Zeus the Almighty: DragonBorn
by thehunteryeah
Summary: I awaken in the solar of the sun, a long shadow breaking the foliage's peace amongst the pale pines. The cart creeks onwards, and all of it starts to fall into place. I am about to die.
1. Chapter I

_**The Disclaimer: This work wouldn't be possible without Rick Riordan and Bethesda and thus all canon material belong to them.**_

 **Chapter I: Fried Fish**

I awoke from deep slumber. It had been a winded night at the lake but I was close to my father's domain and thus the harpies wouldn't find me. Chiron himself, through all the years that he had lived, probably didn't even consider that a rock outcropping could exist just below the surface of the water, lined with dimly sparkling gems and hard, gritty rock.

Sometimes I lay here with Annabeth, just us two gazing at the stars in the heavens and talking about inconsequential stuff until we both fell asleep under the moonlight. Usually; however, I just lay here by myself and thought about the future. Now with both the Titan War and the Giant War ended with for good, what would I do in life? Would I marry Annabeth and live a peaceful life somewhere in the States? Or... or do something else. What was it that I wanted? What should I do with the rest of my life?

These days I barely even saw her. Annabeth was smart. She was always out there, doing something with someone, thinking ahead. She would graduate from a prestigious university and after a time start her own architect firm, maybe move continents and design to her heart's content. She would start a family, sight-see the world and maybe even enter the field of local politics when she was ready to settle down for good. Annabeth's entire life was planned out. The question was – how did I fit into those plans?

We would surly not be in the same university, then there was a PhD that Annabeth would definitely do, then there was work and life and... peace?

I shivered. My eyes flew open.

It was as if I was transported right into the middle of Alaska. Frost clung to my eye lids, solidifying until my forehead felt numb from the cold. My hands were frozen in place. Shouldn't I have an immunity to the cold what with me being a Son of Poseidon and all?

In fact, it was strange but... I think that I did have an immunity to the cold. I fought atop glaciers in a tee-shirt and jeans against the bane of Hades and his legions of the undead. What gives?

A glance around revealed me to be in a cart with three other men, all of whom were much older than me. I tried to calm myself down from panicking by thinking about how this was all a bad dream. Demigod dreams could get very vivid afterall. Then again, I had the sneaking suspicion that this was not a dream at all and I didn't like that one bit because it only spelled trouble and with the giant's war having only just concluded, a third war was not exactly what one wanted to hear about.

The last thing I remembered was... nothing. Nothing but snow, lots and lots of snow. I was sure that there was a horse or two as well and some kind of people in armour had approached me. I could vaguely remember the word 'trespasser' being thrown around a lot. Had I trespassed somewhere? Was I drunk? Maybe I was in Canada? But then again, why would I be on a cart with my hands tied up with rope in the middle of freaking Canada? It didn't make sense. Nothing did. Where was I, Hades dammit?!

Up front, there was a soldier wearing light leather armour with interlocking chain-mail underneath, sitting atop the horse that pulled the creaky cart along, on which I and the other occupants sat. It looked as if we were travelling in a convoy of four carts with over a dozen soldiers on stallions surrounding us. All of them were outfitted in a unusual mix of Roman and Norse armour and all were riding at a similar pace while simultaneously steering clear of each other's paths along the very narrow dirt road that we travelled. It was as clear to see as day that these soldiers knew what they were doing.

In the distance loomed a town, its inhabitants perhaps awaiting our arrival or perhaps not. Nevertheless, I gave the town a second look for I was sure that no one lived in thatched houses anymore. Even renaissance week on Long Island, where he got to laugh as Clarisse was forced into an ancient greek dress, was meeker and never went to such lengths as this did.

What was I doing in this cart anyways? Being escorted by soldiers, having my hands tied up and wearing rough rags made me feel like some sort of criminal. Well I did trespass... somewhere. Thankfully I wasn't a criminal. The Gateway arch didn't count, or stealing from mortals while they were asleep, or killing monsters, or stealing from monsters, or getting into perceived firefights, or travelling to foreign countries without a Visa. Taking away two statues from Hoover Dam was also not a crime, or driving without a license (it was just one time with Rachael. Honest!). So yeah, I wasn't a criminal. There were just many... unfortunate circumstances that reared their heads during my life.

"Hey you! Finally awake? You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us and that thief over there," the blonde guy sitting across from me started off out of nowhere.

He had a chiselled face and drawn-out, almost hungry, eyes. A downward scar sat prominently on display just next to his nose, showing that he was a veteran of battle or that he had gotten extremely careless while shaving.

"Yeah that was me. The names Percy. Woke up to the sight of guards in the middle of nowhere. Next thing I know, here I am," I started to tap my foot against the wood underneath.

The man grinned. "Name's Rolof. I would greet you but..." he lifted his tied-up hands.

"Yeah, these things are scratchy as hell."

"Hell?" Rolof asked with his brows drawn in confusion.

"Just a... a random word that I picked up along my travels," I replied.

Rolof didn't know what hell was? How could that be? Just where am I? Then again – Canadians. It was as if that one word could explain anything in life. A guy apologized to you because you crashed into his car? Canadian. You got lost and got ambushed by squirrels? Then you must be in Canada. A Canadian didn't shake your hand? Canadian Thug Life.

"Oh. So you're a traveller then?" asked Rolof.

"Yeah, I travel the world. See the sights. Meet new people. It's a very busy life," I said.

A very busy life pissing off immortal beings and saving the world from other, more pissed off at me, immortal beings.

"That must be noble. To be able to taste the drinks from every province in Tamriel, in their birthplaces to boot, must surely be an experience and a great tale to tell around the fire. I'll give you that!"

The chirping of birds washed over our cart as the convoy passed a natural creek creeping across the mountain side with a lone wild goat leaning next to it, sipping from the creek's clear waters. The air was fresh, chilly and crisp; I liked it, though it was still too damn cold.

"Say, where are you from?" asked Rolof.

I was about to say 'NYC' when a word mysteriously popped up inside of my mind instead, as if by magic.

"I'm from the Empire – and you?" I replied.

Was someone reading my mind? Were they the ones that brought me here? So many questions, so little answers. If it was Ares then I would kick the god's arse forward into the twenty-third century. No lightening thundered across the sky – this was worrying.

"I am a Nord hailing from Skyrim, this Talos-blessed land. You're from the Empire?" inquired Rolof with a scrunched-up face, as if it was supposed to mean something that I was from the Empire and that I was here of all places.

My brain hit a deep freeze, realizing that maybe the Empire didn't exist or maybe the dude never heard of it or maybe there were too many Empires and I had to specify which one? I started rubbing my fingers together as they begun to dull a bit from the weather and also because I didn't like being restrained, I needed to move, to breathe.

Rolof's expression lifted. "Ah, I see you are worried. Don't worry. I do not discriminate. Afterall, you're not part of the Imperial Army, are you?" Rolof asked with a raised brow as if this was some secret joke.

Then again, I was in the same cart as criminals and I mentioned being a traveller so... "No, no, no. I'm just a civilian minding my own business."

So we had an 'Empire', well this was about to get interesting real fast. Stone forts, an empire, leather and mail armour, thatched houses, carts pulling along criminals, wild goats, no lightening and the guards were carrying swords. Call me crazy but I was not sure that I was in my own time anymore.

The trees here were dwindling, both in number and size, so we would most likely be out of the small forest that we were passing through in a couple of minutes. Next to Rolof, a man in rags woke.

The man stared at me as if there was a blood-thirsty hound right behind me before he opened his mouth and out spewed the blame, "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was just fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy, if they had not been looking for you, I would have already stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"

"You stranger, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's the Stormcloaks that the Empire wants! They with their war that devastates the normal people!" the rag-man cried out to me in a broken voice, as if not believing that this had actually happened.

He looked broken: his rags ragged, his breaths quick and shallow while his pale brown eyes darted from side to side. I couldn't help but feel pity for the man. He looked like every day he was haunted by the very worst demons from the Fields of Punishments.

A detail brought itself before my attention. The Stormcloaks were in a conflict against the Empire. A place where I supposedly came from was in conflict with the people sitting right next to me. Now I got where that discrimination comment came from. Yet the Stormcloak didn't seem to hate me so far while the Empire had arrested me and put me in bindings. Then again, just because I was from a particular place didn't mean that my loyalty lay with them. Many defected demigods proved this when they swore loyalty to the Titans during the Titan War.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief!" Rolof snapped back.

Honestly, the man didn't look like one. He reminded me more of a skeleton than a living, breathing human being.

"Shut up back there!" the soldier snarled at us from his high position atop the stallion that was leading the cart.

The conversation dulled for a few minutes as our cart finally left the small forest and was now maybe a mere kilometre from the town up ahead. The land was vast and much more beautiful than even Long Island and the camp combined. Fields of wild flowers stretched across the landscape while herds of clouds lazily drifted by, as white and fluffy as sea foam. Expect for the convoy, there was not a single soul visible in all of this greenery.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief asked Rolof, breaking the silence as he nodded at the man on their cart whom was dressed in expensive clothes and whose mouth was covered by a filthy brown gag.

"Watch your tongue thief, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of all of Skyrim," said Rolof.

My luck was astronomically down the drain, thank you Tyche, you have been ever so helpful.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!"

Rebellion? What rebellion? I thought it was a war. A civil war perhaps? I needed to listen more.

"But if they've captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us!" the thief exclaimed.

"I do not know where we are going but Sovengarde awaits," stated Rolof in a grave voice.

I couldn't help myself but ask, "Sovengarde?"

Rolof turned his gaze onto me, "the afterlife of the Nords created by Shor himself! Only those Nords that fall valiantly in battle can join the warriors afterlife where the legends drink mead and live for all eternity!"

Sounded like Elysium. So we were doomed. Where ever did I hear those words before?

"No! This can't be happening. This isn't happening," protested the haggard thief half-heartedly.

We all fell silent as the fortified town came ever closer in our line of sight, its shadow falling over us like a blanket of darkness. Every word, every whisper suddenly had all that much more meaning.

"What village are you from, horse thief?" Rolof asked.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thought should be of home," was all that Rolof said in return as he seemed to await an answer.

"Rorikstead. I'm… I'm from Rorikstead," the thief said in a heartbroken voice, his own eyes sizing up the tall walls of stone.

Our cart was now approaching the open wooden gates. We were so close that the voices from the other side could be clearly heard now - one of which stood out above all the others.

"General Tullius, sir. The headsman is waiting," What sounded like a soldier told this… general?

Surely not Atlas? No it could not be, this man's name was Tullius. Well in that case I was _glad_ that I had a general conducting my execution, what an honour indeed. There was now another name to file in my mind in the never-ending list of who wanted me dead, one General Tullius.

"Good. Let's get this over with," the General's tone of voice left nothing to be misunderstood.

"Yes sir!" saluted the soldier before he scurried off into the depths of the town.

These people wanted to execute us right away it seemed and a headsman? I wasn't going to be hanged then but instead I would have my head chopped right off from my very pretty neck. These were the moments when I really regretted crossing the River Tiber while carrying Hera. Whether out of coincidence or because Hera was pissed, the cart shook as it rode over cow manure.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines. Please help me," the thief muttered silently, praying to these foreign entities of his.

Maybe I should pray too? But then again, I was out of their reach. I was sure that the gods wouldn't hear so much as a whisper of my prayers should I even dare to attempt them. Unless it was they that had sent me here in the first place.

I and the other carts occupants, which consisted of: a thief, a rebel and a noble in revolt mode, stumbled around as the cart went over a shallow pothole upon its entrance into the fortified town before at last, it advanced through the tall, inviting and spread wide open gates and down the orderly laid out stone path that stood in stark contrast to the dirt road that we had been travelling on for the past half-hour or so.

The cart continued to tumble along the other carts in the convoy and there, in the corner of the gates, was General Tullius himself with a bunch of… what were those? By the Olympians! Green skinned, big-headed, wide-eyed… were those truly aliens?

"Look at him. General Tullius, the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with all of this – including the ambush," said the ever helpful Stormcloak that sat opposite of me.

There were elves? Honestly, I shouldn't be surprised by this discovery considering the gods were real but I still was for which I could not fault myself because, seriously? Elves? These guys were nothing alike to those immortal, white-skinned, blonde-haired, always-beautiful elves from the Lord of the Rings. Legolas would have a lot less fans if he was a green-skinned and wide-eyed alien.

"General Tullius, stop! By the authority of the Thalmor, I'm taking custody of these prisoners."

"Not on my watch, First Emissary Elenwen. These prisoners are under Imperial Jurisdiction!" the general scoffed.

"Your Emperor will hear of this. By the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, I operate with full Imperial authority!"

"Nowhere in the treaty does it state that you can take control over prisoners of war!"

"You're making a terrible mistake!" the elf exclaimed.

General Tullius appeared to ignore the elf as he and his entourage left the fuming First Emissary Elenwen behind and rode in the opposite direction that the cart was heading in.

Finally, we rode on into the town proper, passing by different wooden houses and even a primitive smithy.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod still makes that mead with juniper berries mixed in it," Rolof said in a tender voice, gazing longingly at an inn surrounded with violet mountain flowers that grew wildly outside the structure. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

We rode on, past the smithy and heading straight into the heart of Helgen. Some people were crowding around the carts and he could just about discern one of the conversations happening not five paces away from him.

"Who are they dad? Where are they going?" the son asked his father.

"You need to get inside, little cub," ordered the father.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers," the boy pleaded with a glaze in his eyes as he watched the soldiers ride down the street on their stallions.

"Inside the house. Now!" the father said sternly, clearly not wanting the boy to see what was about to happen and having run out of patience himself.

That did not reassure me one bit. Just how gory were these executions? Well, I was about to find out.

"Yes, father," was the sons response as he headed back inside, of course not before he once more stared dejectedly at the heavily armoured convoy that was transporting me and the crew to our eventual head-rolling festival.

I lost sight of the boy as with a fluid turn through a stone ark, our convoy entered something akin to a parking lot made specifically to house old-fashioned carts as people were brought in for their joyful decapitation parties. At least that's what I thought they made them for. Maybe it was just the town square? That would make this even more poetic considering it would probably be awash with bloody by the time this was all over.

"Whoa," signalled the soldier to his horse while pulling back on the reigns.

With a gentle stop, the cart to the north-east of us stopped moving and was immediately swarmed by guards who were making sure that no one escaped their inevitable fate.

"Get yourselves out of the carts. Now! Move it!" an officer yelled in the distance to the other unmoving cart that was even further down the line from us.

"Why are we stopping?" asked the haggard thief.

"Why do you think? End of the line," stated Rolof with a stone-like expression as the realization finally sunk in that we were all about to die.

Finally the cart came to a resounding stop.

"Let us go, shouldn't keep the guards waiting for us," Rolof told the rest of us in the cart as he gracefully hopped out before the guards swarmed this cart too.

"No! No! Wait! We are not rebels!" pleaded the horse thief as he was forcefully brought down the cart's creaky steps.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," Rolof spit out.

We were now on the ground and stood in a semi-circle in front of our captors. Two guards stood particularly near the thief while another one, the size of a giant, stood just next to the king-in-chains – making sure that nothing happened that shouldn't happen.

"You've got to tell them. We were not with you. This is a mistake," the thief tried again, struggling against one of the two guards around him as his attempt at escape failed, yet again.

"Step towards the bloke when we call your name, one at a time," commanded a male officer to the right of us.

A female captain stood to the groups left. Obviously, overseeing the process personally, what with the infamous Ulfric Stormcloak here.

"The Empire sure does love their damned lists," Rolof muttered under his breath, too low for anybody but me to hear.

Suddenly, I snorted with laughter, the people around me staring at me as if I was out of my mind. I gave them a mirth-filled smile.

The Empire, the rebels, an evil general, aliens, starting off with me being captured by the Empire and held for execution while waiting for someone to save me – classical Star Wars. What next... Yoda?

The male officer started off, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm"

Seemed like they wanted to deal with the highest valued among us first. The pearly eyed aristocrat, leader of the so-called rebellion, stepped aside and made his way silently to the crowd of people standing idly around the chopping block, the giant of a guard shadowing his every footstep.

"It has been an honour Jarl Ulfric," Rolof muttered under his breath as the imposing figure of a man passed by him.

Ulfric gave him a nod in response.

The male officer turned his gaze back down to the list at hand and spoke out in a loud tone, "Rolof of Riverwood"

At the mention of his name, Rolof followed his fearless leader to the crowd of Stormcloaks waiting to get their heads chopped off. For the third time the male officer announced a name, "Lokir of Rorikstead"

At the mention of his name, the now identified Lokir took three steps forward before being halted by one of the guards as he was crying out desperately, "No! I am not a rebel. You can't do this!"

Well obviously they could for otherwise Lokir wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. When silence descended and Lokir realised that he was going to die; he swung his hands into the jaw of the guard, knocking him backwards, and dashed as fast as he could towards the still open wooden gates through which we had entered, perhaps hoping to escape into the wild and start life anew.

The female captain gave the male officer a glare as she yelled out, "Halt!"

A useless command by this point.

"You are not going to kill me!" Lokir screamed, still running towards the open gates.

Lokir's escape ended before it had really began as the female captain yelled with a mighty roar, "Archers!"

Not a second later an arrow embedded itself in the thief's chest as he fell down to the ground – dead.

The female captain turned back to the prisoners that were still filtering out of the last cart and shouted out in a threatening voice, "Anyone else think of running?!"

A few seconds passed and the male officer looked at his ledger yet again as a frown settled over his face.

"Wait. You there. Step forward," he said, indicating me with his right hand that held an oddly-shaped quill.

I thought about resisting but then resolved to comply with the command and took three steps forward just as Lokir had done only moments previously... before he had died with an arrow piercing his spine.

"Who are you?" asked the male officer with his eyes boring holes into my skull.

They didn't have my name on the list. I was ready to whoop in joy. I wasn't going to be executed! Remembering the question, I hastily replied, "I am Percy Jackson from the Empire"

The male officer wrote it down in his brown journal and said, "A strange name. You are a long way away from the Imperial City. What are you doing in Skyrim?"

Without even waiting for my reply, the male officer looked at the female captain on my right and asked, "Captain! What should we do with him? He is not on the list?"

Hmm, maybe… let me go?

To which the cruel female captain ordered, "Forget the list. The prisoner goes to the block!"

My joy faltered and instantly denatured as my jaw dropped. They were going to execute me even through my name wasn't on the list? But they loved their 'damned lists'!

The male officer stood at attention, "By your orders, captain"

But I was innocent?

He then turned to me and told me his own parting words, "I am sorry. We will make sure that your remains are sent off to Cyrodill. Follow the captain, prisoner."

Well at least I got some special treatment.

I reluctantly followed the female captain into the crowd, milling around the executioner with the rest of the prisoners, temper flaring for being sentenced to death for absolutely no valid reason.

Only a few seconds after I had stepped into the gathering, General Tullius stepped out of the shadows of the keep, "Ulfric Stormcloak! Some here in Helgen call you a hero but a hero doesn't use his power, like the voice, to murder his king and usurp his throne. You started this war and brought Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!"

Out of nowhere, a light roar sounded in the distance, sounding similar to that of an angry Nemean Lion starving for a mouth-watering delicious demigod snack.

The Imperial soldier who had manned our cart voiced out his thoughts, "What was that?"

I wondered if they even had lions in Skyrim? It wouldn't be too far-fetched in my mind but then why did the guard sound so confused?

To the comment from the soldier, General Tullius replied with a generic, "It was nothing. Carry on."

The captain, obviously wanting to calm the soldiers, quickly agreed with her superior in rank, "Yes, General Tullius, sir!"

She then proceeded to give the 'go ahead' gesture to a priestess standing beside the chopping block and behind a small alter depicting a carved woman in the nude, just barely covered by wooden clothing.

"Give them their last rites," the officer spat out at the smiling priestess.

I was severely disappointed when the priestess raised her hands in the air and started to mutter out what was pure nonsense to my ears, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you…" and on and on it went.

Finally, after five minutes of the random gibberish about godly blessings and the divines, a random Stormcloak right next to me interrupted the priestess, "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"

I agreed with that statement whole-heartedly for I had never wanted to die as much as I did now. That's why they had the service before the executions – the prisoners would be jumping onto the chopping block themselves just to shut up the holy lady. The female captain must have witnessed the speech so many times before that she now had it engraved in her skull. Not that I cared, the captain deserved all of it and then some more added to that as well. She had afterall ordered my death.

The priestess complied with the Stormcloak's request. "As you wish," her voice bitter, as if the Stormcloak had just broken her favourite vase.

The Stormcloak then went forward, kneeled down and put his head on the chopping block proudly, "Come on, I haven't got all morning!"

The guy had balls of steel. Before going on with the chopping-off-the-head ceremony, the female captain made sure that the Stormcloak soldier was secure in case he tried anything funny. With her inspection finished, she gave the black-masked executioner a nod to signify that he could begin at any moment.

"My ancestors are smiling upon me Imperials. Can you say the same?" the man, perhaps feeling rebellious, spit out in the General's direction.

Five seconds and one sorrow-filled swing later found the Stormcloak's lifeless head rolling around the cobbled floor, covered in squirting blood with eyes opened wide for all to see.

The sight made me flinch away and my stomach churn with vomit. It was utterly disgusting. Finally it was starting to sink in that it might be me next with my head rolling on the floor just as aimlessly. I was destined to die like a headless chicken far from friends and home. In the crowd of Stormcloaks and in the crowd of citizens of the town that were watching, shouts rang out following the valour-filled Stormcloak's death.

"You Imperial bastards!", "Justice!", "Death to the Stormcloaks!" littered all around as people voiced their opinions for the world to hear.

Rolof muttered, "As fearless in death as he was in life."

The female captain yelled, "Next! The Imperial!"

Did she have a personal grudge against me or what? Before I could comprehend the reasons on as to why the captain wanted me dead so swiftly, another roar rang throughout the air – but this one sounded closer, much closer.

The male officer stated the obvious, "There it is again. Did you hear that?"

No, nobody heard that Sherlock. The female captain, wanting some order among the widespread mutterings, yelled out in frustration, "I said next prisoner!"

You'd think with her being a captain and all that she would have just a bit more patience.

The male officer turned to look at me, "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy"

What was nice and easy about death? I walked slowly down to the chopping block and laid my head on the block, hoping it would be over soon. I would call the Fates bluff. The gamble with Gaia had proven successful with the gorgon blood so this should be a piece of cake, hopefully...

My fate didn't end here, in this alien world. It just couldn't. As I was closing my eyes, they suddenly flew open as yet another roar was heard but this one was definitely close by and it had been the boldest and the loudest so far. Whatever it was; it was very, very near.

A nervous General Tullius looked up, "What in oblivion is that?"

The female officer half-asked, half-yelled, "Sentries! What do you see?"

One of the supposed sentries screamed from atop the keep, "It's in the clouds!"

Wings as large as castles emerged flapping as a large, scale-clad, black monstrosity landed on top of the keep – nearly crumbling it to pieces.

A Stormcloak on my left announced, in an awed tone, what we all had been thinking of, "Dragon!"

Holy Hera, I wondered if Riptide would actually work on this dragon that was as big as Ladon if not bigger! I drew my bound hands around the string belt but found nothing. Riptide was missing! How could I have missed that? My sword was gone! I was defenceless amidst a crowd of crazed and armed soldiers and a freaking dragon!

The dragon bellowed and the tame weather started to develop hurricane-level winds that pounded Helgen and everything inside of it.

"Don't just stand there! Kill that thing!" shouted the General to his soldiers, "Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"

Rolof appeared as if out of thin air and helped lift me up. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" Rolof said through gritted teeth as we sprinted towards a looming stone tower to which most of the Stormcloaks seemed to be running towards.

We managed to get inside of the safe structure, all riled up and coughing. Numerous injured littered the floor while all able-bodied Stormcloaks tended to their own wounds and those of their comrades. There were no Imperials in sight; although, they probably went to fight the beast as this was their town and they had a sudden dragon infestation problem.

Rolof approached the now freed king, "Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

This happened before? For some reason, I got the impression that this world rarely got dull; not counting the long, boring speeches while I was catching my breath. Now why would I get an impression like that? Oh right, there was a dragon torching an entire town to barbecue right outside, I had just escaped execution by a hairs width and there was a civil war going on, all at the same time.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric scolded Rolof.

Pretty well said actually for a man who had been mute for most of the journey. I wonder if he had spent all of that time coming up with that punch-line as it was certainly a burner, pun intended. Now to only deal with the dragon, which should be easy considering my water powers... my water powers... my water powers? I tried to sense my abilities. I stretched out my senses, tried to feel that painful tug in my gut… nothing... they were gone.

"We need to move now! Up through the tower, let's go!" was all that Rolof said to me before making his way upwards.

I felt like a robot. Walking and talking, not really comprehending the stuff around me.

I had missed the past few minutes of my life, too distraught over the loss of my birth-right to notice what was even being discussed and so I followed Rolof like a lost puppy, still thinking about Riptide... my water powers... Annabeth... my friends... my family... it had finally sunk in. It had all finally sunk in. I might very well not see any of them ever again. I might never again be able to use my sword – my Anaklusmos. I could possibly never again celebrate my birthday with my dad. I might very well just die here, burned to ash without ever being able to tell my mother how much I loved her ever again.

Then there were flames.

I and Rolof bore eye-witness to the same gigantic dragon breaking a part of the solid stone wall in front of us on the second floor and then torching everything in front of it to a fiery crisp, taking the lives of two Stormcloaks and a child that they had been healing.

I couldn't move my eyes.

So much death... so much destruction... so much misery.

As the dragon left to murder others and the fires calmed down, Rolof and I advanced towards the hole in the wall.

Rolof, after inspecting the damage, turned to me, "The path upstairs is blockaded by rocks. Damn it! If I were someone foolish I would tell you to jump through the hole but that would be pure folly. Let's get back to Ulfric and report. He will know what to do"

"Sure," I replied automatically, my eyes still glued to the charred husks flat-lined to the floor – or what used to be the floor.

Limbs filled with charcoal, eyes evaporated from the heat, the little girls face a smoking skull. Looking through the hole before departing down the stairs, my eyes steeled as I sighted the dragon breathing hellfire upon the people running before it, felling yet another child and a weathered man with a long beard to boot.

The child was consumed instantly by the flames, engulfed in the toxic substance that fought off any shadow. The old man though silently screamed in utter and obvious agony before the flames consumed his tongue and shed his skin of all of it's features, leaving only a burnt-out husk of a corpse behind after it was done with what was once a human being.

After a lifetime had passed for me but was only a mere moment for the rest, we descended the stone stairs leading down to the main hall. We made our way back to Ulfric, walking amid dozens of wounded bodies and corpses whom had all died agonizing deaths or were in the process of dying. The stench of death hung heavily in the air while the fire glowing out of the torches in the walls seemed more menacing than ever before.

After careful manoeuvring, I could spot Ulfric Stormcloak standing amidst half-a-dozen burly men and one lean woman up ahead. All in all, the group consisted of two civilians and five Stormcloaks, with the armour or lack thereof indicating their status as civilian or rebel.

Basically, we were all of the healthy people left inside the tower. Which considering the mountains of bodies left and right didn't speak for much. It seemed that dragon fire here was much more deadlier than its earthen counterparts that could be stopped by a mere steel shield, if only temporarily. I could guess that we were going to attempt an escape and most likely if you couldn't stand on your own two feet you would be left for the dragon to eat.

Nobody liked this, nobody ever would, nobody liked cowardice. It was as plain to see as a cloudless day. I was pretty sure that some of them argued but were shot down by others with reason and logic and I had to admit it was the only way to go forward, even though if I could, I would carry every single one of the people in this room out of here with me. It broke my heart inside seeing so many people in excruciating misery while the rest wasted away in eternal agony. If we were still on Earth, I hoped that the judges in the underworld would have mercy on these people.

"Rolof, you're back! Thank the gods. What did you find?" Ulfric spoke with haste and relief as if going to the second floor was now a life threatening decision. Then I remembered the dragon. Oh yes, it was a life-ending decision alright.

"I bring grave news. If there was anything of note, it was destroyed. The dragon managed to break in and torched everyone remaining alive," Rolof replied.

"Grave news indeed. It is as I feared then. Let's move out and remember to stick together unless the dragon attacks. If it does, scatter to improve your chances of survival," Ulfric told the group before we headed out of our brutalized shelter that was previously a noble, gleaming tower of order but was now reduced to this falling apart temple of chaos, a shunk of life.

Carefully, step-by-step, we made our way silently across the street by moving through the half-burnt down houses on either sides, ensuring that the dragon never saw us. On dozens of occasions, dead bodies were moved aside and stepped over. With each body passed, I began to wonder if that was why the Fates had sent me here, to kill this abomination of nature. This monster.

We were now in a house at the end of the street, right next to a gigantic, fallen oak that was blocking our escape from reaching completion.

"The way I see it, we have only two options," whispered the unofficial leader of the escape party, Ulfric Stormcloak, "We either return back to the keep and wait this all out with a high possibility of dying," at this everybody flinched.

"Or…" here Ulfric's tone got lower, "I can use a Thu'um to tear the tree out of the way; however, this is likely to attract the attention of the dragon. If I am to do this then when it is done, we will have to run for our lives into the stone keep on the opposite end. So… what say you?"

A couple of tense moments passed by in complete and utter silence as each individual thought over the plan until the gruffest of all Stormcloak's commented, "It's now or never, I'm in my Jarl!"

"Me as well, my lord," agreed the Stormcloak left of Rolof.

After that it was a unanimous decision that we would go through with the plan and hope for the best, even though I didn't know what this Thu'um was, I was willing to give this a try. Not that there was much choice.

Everybody was in positions and I was ready to sprint for my life at a moment's notice. Ulfric took position, stepped outside of cover, opened his mouth and proceeded to change the world of Nirn forever.

"Fus! Ro! Dah!"

The words tore the trunk of the tree into the air and threw it way out of the blazing town – by the time it had started disappearing out of sight, over nine hundred meters away, the trunk was all but obliterated into ash and soot that clouded its descent with an ebony trail.

As soon as the trunk began flying everybody began to sprint towards the keep, even I, though I was doing this on instinct alone for my mind was distracted. Focusing back onto the task at hand, I realised that I was nearing the destination, a filthy old keep that didn't look like it could hold up under a dragon attack for even a single second.

The only reason the group was running towards it was because of its underground access to the tunnels underneath the town and the reassurance that it was made of strong stuff which would buy us precious minutes to escape. At least that's what the gist of it was if Rolof was to be believed.

Looking up, I jumped over a few broken branches and sticks. The door to the keep was already ajar with most of the Stormcloaks already inside; waiting for me, the only lady Stormcloak and the two civilians to enter.

A great gust of concentrated dragon fire connected with the ground centimetres away from my buttocks and scorched dead the rest of the group that was behind. Their screams echoed in my ears, over and over again. I was only spared death because at the very last moment I had front rolled through the doorway. A little problem persisted – my back was on fire!

The excruciating flames tried to eat away at my flesh but were extinguished before they had managed to complete their task by me hurriedly rolling around the stone floor and being helped out of my burning rags by the people around me.

The tunic was burnt to ashes while my jagged back hurt and burned as if I had been pushing a rock up a mountain since time immemorial. I would need something for my back so that I could walk properly. So... hot. My hands and feet were numb and charged with trapped electricity invalidating their use.

Ugh, I... I could feel my mouth being forced apart and some kind of liquid trickling down my throat, as if nectar it thankfully lessened the pain to a dull ache.

Bloody, freaking dragon. I would vanquish that abomination to the depths of Tartarus – after I found myself a new pair of pants and also preferably a shirt or something to cover my torso. But for now my whole body was aching and my back simmering from being subjected to a gaseous, agonizing acid. There were bigger fish to fry.


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II: The Helgen Dungeon Run**

My binds were finally cut and now my wrists had at last some freedom of movement, the sharp air snapping at the rawness like a bow in bleeding hands. A rather lightweight chest piece, similar in design to the armour of the Imperial soldiers, was put on me as I was too weak to do so myself, offering much more protection to me than the tunic rag from earlier – not that it would hold out against Dragon's fire in any case.

Rolof hauled me up to my feet with some difficulty, the room tilting on its axis, "We need to get going."

Rolof didn't look particularly strong but he could still probably be able to carry me like I was a bag of rice. I stumbled a bit after I got to my feet, even going so far as to grab hold of a support beam. After this I needed to get some sleep, dimension travelling didn't exactly leave one ready to outrun a dragon.

"You alright?" Rolof asked with a frown.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't stress it. It's not as if all this death is affecting me in any sort of way."

"You're a dick."

I pointed at him, "Well then you're a cunt."

"By Talos, the Imperial has a sense of humour! Here, might find these useful," Rolof grinned sarcastically and passed me some leather boots.

After I had put the rest of the armour on, a Stormcloak withan intimidating aura and a thick bear skin covering his upper torso, came up to me and thrust me an iron sword and shield, "Don't die on us. Every life matters expect for those of the damn Altmer Elves. I hope you know how to use the weapons?"

"Sure. I have _some_ experience," I replied.

"Good," the guy grunted out in his gruff voice before heading off to Ulfric where most of the others were also assembled.

I looked at Rolof but before I could ask him the question, he answered, "that was Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's personal housecarl. A good fellow, honest to the bones. I wouldn't piss him off if I were you, he throws one mighty punch."

I snorted, "And how would you know that?"

"Might've by accident knocked up his sister," Rolof off-handedly gestured.

It was easy to imagine the tall Galmar standing a foot over Rolof's head and giving him the evil 'you're about to die' look. I chocked on my laughter, "He must've been furious! But you did deserve it."

"Hey! It wasn't my fault! I didn't know she was married!"

"Wow, Rolof. Just wow. How did you not know that the woman you're chasing after is married?"

"Shut up kid. Come on, let's go before we're left behind," Rolof said before leaving for the group.

"Did you trip and accidentally fall into her waiting arms by any chance?"

"Very funny," Rolof rolled his eyes without breaking his pace.

"Hey! Wait up!" I scrambled after him.

Ulfric Stormcloak looked up from some kind of document that he was holding, mayhaps a map that would show them the way out of this restless place.

"Finally you two are here! By Ysmir, we thought you fell asleep at the pace you were going!" a few chuckles went round the room at our belated arrival.

"Listen up comrades," Ulfric's voice rang out across the cavern, "We are moving out to find the exit to the outside… if it hasn't been destroyed already. We need to move quickly and carefully so that we can get the Akatosh out of here, before the dragon destroys this place and anything that remains behind. Is everyone ready to move out?"

He was answered by a roomful of nods and fists held to chests.

"Very well. Then we set out immediately. To the doors!"

Within several moments, the Stormcloaks had assembled at the doors and by Ulfric's commands, advanced beyond them. I hoped that we would get out quickly. I wasn't scared of the underground as much as I was of the sky but that still didn't mean that it didn't make me uncomfortable and jittery. I still remembered Hades' prison pretty accurately and the claustrophobic clusterfuck that it was. Not to mention Tartarus...

Entering the second room, we stumbled on five Imperial soldiers huddling under a chandelier.

"Who goes there?" shouted out the Imperial on the right, obviously the captain of the squad, identifiable by the rank on his shoulder and his plumed helmet.

"We are the Stormcloaks, little Imperial," replied one of the bulkier Stormcloaks, his steel great sword sitting comfortably in the palm of his hands.

"Fucking Divines!" yelped the Imperial as he stumbled around in shock before taking out his sword, "It's the Stormcloaks! Kill them all!"

I could faintly hear one of the privates whispers, "But sir…"

"Form rank!"

And so the chaos ensued. I nearly drew my sword. Nearly.

How could I kill people? Sure, they were trying to kill me but they were still people. Not monsters but people such as those that I had vowed to protect from Kronos. People with families and partners... people such as my mum and Paul. I couldn't bring myself to kill them. It would not be right.

The Stormcloaks were efficient and brutal. I put my hand off my sword just as the last combatant, the Imperial captain, received a hammer through his skull. The blood oozed out of his cracked face as the corpse of the newly deceased Imperial hit the ground with a sickening thud leaving a stench reminiscent of the plague, hanging heavily in the air. I closed my nose and looked away in disgust. I did not like this at all. Couldn't we be more diplomatic?

Thankfully, in the encounter, no Stormcloaks had perished. A fact that I was sure was only due to the hostile squad being mostly composed of recruits which made the battle seem all the more unnecessary and a pure slaughter. Couldn't we have persuaded the enemy not to fight? That one guy hadn't wanted to fight, so maybe all that we had to do was intimidate the group and we would have been left alone. Or maybe we could have even joined forces, 'Stronger together' as Annabeth had once said.

But it was too late now, maybe next time I would try to bring peace, if there would be a next time that is. There was still a dragon set loose at Helgen. I followed the group out of the now bloody room and down the stairs leading towards a deserted corridor. Following the corridor and taking, what I assumed to be, pot shot guesses at two of the intersects; we finally stumbled upon the torturer's chamber, where cages stood around the room, filled with the half-rotten skeletons of Stormcloak soldiers and one lone prisoner who looked half-dead of malnutrition and pale as a winter's storm.

Before I could even formulate a proper thought, enraged Stormcloaks attacked without provocation, killing the torturer and his assistant before putting their corpses into the iron prisons that the skeletons of their brothers died in. Poetic justice. But why the bloodshed? Why the torture? I didn't know.

Rolof's voice carried out, "I… I can't believe that they did this to them. Those… those dogs! How dare they torture our brothers and sisters to death! And you see that clothing?" Rolof pointed at the material stewing off some of the half burnt corpses, "that's the uniform of the battlefield healers! Those shitless, skinless, spineless dogs tortured the freaking healers!"

In a much graver tone, Rolof continued, "I will rip apart that General Tullius with my own two hands, piece by piece, if I ever meet him again."

The sight of so many dead tortured bodies really nipped at me and made my blood boil for some kind of retribution but it was not mine to give. If anything, I actually felt kind of sick. Thank the gods that I hadn't barfed again. I was pretty sure that it was coming soon. I would be much more comfortable once I was away from being gazed upon by the empty eyeholes of rotten skulls. The dead girl had been one thing – this; however, was caused by mortals. Very sick mortals.

"Rolof… calm down," Ulfric said quietly.

"Calm down? Calm down! You want me to calm down!" snarled Rolof in a fiery voice.

"Yes! We will kill the Imperials later but right now you have to be focused on the task at hand or else you won't survive to kill those bastards!" the leader of the Stormcloaks snarled back in response.

A flash of grim understanding passed like a shadow through Rolof's eyes as he nodded. After freeing the lone prisoner, who kept mumbling incoherently about the white frost approaching, we were back in our previous formation and heading off down the narrow corridor into the depths of the keep to get out of this accursed place, if there actually was an end to it at all.

Ages of walking through empty rooms, pits and corridors, passed by without notice until we reached a particular corridor that possessed something, something of importance. I was sure of it.

Candles were lit in the hallway and the group made ominous expression's on the walls as our bodies passed by and shadows formed. The place smelled of earth and felt like the corridors in Hades's palace, dark and oppressive. The path we were walking on was straight but made of earth.

Faint footsteps littered the ground, dozens going in the same direction – none heading back. Halting the party hurriedly with my hands, I stressed out the tracks in the ground with my hands. Ulfric was the first to understand my frantic motions.

"Good work. You may have just saved our skins," Ulfric praised me before turning his tone harsh and bringing the attention on the others, "And you… trained idiots! Why was it that a civilian of all people whom spotted these tracks? By Tiber Septim's beard… get into formation. From now on be more attentive to details. Move silently, be the shadow and make sure that you are not spotted. Let's move"

It was a good thing that I had spotted the newly made tracks for on our first turn to the left we found ourselves in a cavern filled to the brim with Imperial troops, most likely waiting out the dragon above.

"Halt, Halt," Galmar gruffly whispered to those attempting to peak over his shoulder at the mass of enemies waiting beyond.

Taking us a bit back into the corridors that we came from, Ulfric began to doll out orders, "Civilian you're at the back, keep a watch over the prisoner we rescued. Hodor, I want you at the front to lead the charge. Slice them open with your great sword," at this the huge burly person, now identified as Hodor, nodded his head.

Ulfric proceeded to point at the next soldiers, "Regan, you and Kaif are to cover our backs with your bows, keep us covered from the archers."

"Of course Jarl Ulfric, we won't fail you," Kaif stated proudly, his posture screaming of graceful confidence and perhaps a hint of egoism too.

"Good, make sure you don't. Galmar and Rolof, cover the flanks. I want those cows encircled and slaughtered!"

"With pleasure my king," Galmar grinned, showing off all of his yellowed teeth.

"I will be assisting Hodor in the fight, Kaif what have you got on tactics?" Ulfric inquired.

After three minutes of diagram drawing on the ground and further planning, the group finally moved out and got into positions. During the talks, I tried to talk about peace and diplomacy but nobody would hear me out. This was going to be a slaughterhouse. I refused to participate in such violence against other humans.

At Ulfric's signal the troop's rushed in, as silent as shadows, and began to kill as many Imperial soldiers as was possible before being discovered. I leaned against the wall and watched the action taking place before me with a critical eye; afterall, my ADHD would allow for nothing less. My other eye from time to time drifted over the uncomprehending form of the bleak-faced and white haired man that we had rescued, making sure that he was alright and not about to die on me with a heart attack.

The Stormcloaks managed to dispose of a third of the Imperial forces in the surprise strike before the alarm was sounded. They were outnumbered but not outmatched. The advantage of numbers fled the Imperial side once an ingenious arrow to the rope, shot by Regan, brought down a burning chandelier upon half a dozen Imperials troops, setting them alight with flames that spiraled like the breath of a dragon.

Speaking of chandeliers, why was there one here? Even though it was wooden, it had no place being so deep underground in a place that was used as a rendezvous point for rats and beetles. Was it some kind of weird tradition that these weird people had? To hang wooden chandeliers in every big room underground? It sure seemed so.

A heavy scream pierced the air. Turning my eyes sharply to the right, I bore witness to the great and burly Hodor being cut down to large pieces of organs and flesh by an extremely talented Imperial swordsman. Chunk by chunk was he decimated and I could swear that someone had screamed "Hold the Door!" on the other side of the cavern.

The body fell limply to the ground, covered in gushing blood and dirt as the head rolled right off its neck, as if it was never connected to that dead piece of muscle and nerves in the first place. The swordsman was approaching one of the now defenceless archers – Kaif, if I remembered correctly – on the bridge. He had mere seconds.

I swiftly slung the shield behind my back and instinctually aimed my sword where the swordsmen would be next. Halting my breath for just a moment, I released my hold on the sword and sent it in a downward swirl as it sped through the air, intent on reaching its target and sinking its blade into flesh.

As the swordsman raised his sword to strike down Kaif, the unexpected sword met its mark and collided with the man's fragile skull. It pierced through it like a steaming hot knife through butter. Upon immediate contact, the man was dead; he never even stood a chance. The sword was covered in blood, with more than half of the blade being engulfed in the former Imperials head with one of the rolling eyes dangling out of its socket. The body twisted and fell into the watery abyss below.

Kaif grinned at me, trying to convey his gratitude towards the save. He continued to smile for only a second but that second of inattentiveness was long enough. An arrow whizzed by before penetrating padded garments and gambeson, striking Kaif hard through the chest. At the same time the prisoner had jumped up and ran off back the way that we had come, my outstretched hand automatically trying to grab onto him but he had been too fast.

I let out a shaky breath and dropped my hand. Soon silence descended onto the hall. The only sounds were the drips of blood and the flow of the underground lake beneath us. I broke out of my stupor. I could feel guilty later.

"Is it safe?" I shouted.

"Yes! You can approach!" Galmar yelled back in an equally as loud voice.

Stepping over Hodor's head, I made my way over to the group that was gasping for breath on the other side of the cavern. I decided to forfeit the sword, seeing the body even once more would surely force my nauseous stomach to vomit. My shield was still slung over my shoulders.

When I had finally gotten to the group, I sighed in relief. Then I saw Rolof holding his tongue between his teeth and whimpering as the bone marrow of his arm was jutting out from where his left hand used to be. Without another word, I vomited in great retches right onto the floor. One heave, two heaves, three... I lost count after that. My neck was raw and on fire. I wanted... no, needed water.

"There, there," said Regan as he patted me on the shoulder.

I just continued heaving disgusting bile onto the floor. It got to the point where I vomited but nothing came out, nothing at all. I just dry heaved until I ran out of oxygen.

After bandaging Rolof's wounds as best as Galmar could while providing ample entertainment ("You think this is bad Rolof, remember when you banged my sister you mutt!" to which Rolof howled in hysterical laughter followed by a healthy dose of pain), our group of five continued on deeper into the caverns that could lead to our freedom. Rolof's blade was given to me to carry and I made sure to not touch any of the ruby red blood dripping off of the blade. Nobody asked me about the disappearance of the white-haired man.

In minutes, the group navigated the long, dirt corridors until finally we reached a bridge. As we set out to cross it, the rocks above gave a horrible shudder.

"Run!" echoed the word as we hurriedly made our way over to the other side.

Rolof was the last man in our group to cross the dangerous bridge and so for being last, he faced the fate of being stoned to utter annihilation by rugged rocks, weighing tonnes upon tonnes in mass, which fell without stop nor mercy.

I would've vomited again, or screamed, or shouted in anguish, or cried. But I just felt tired. Before moving on, I did gaze at the rocks for quite a while. Here died the only man who I even somewhat knew in this unknown land of strange people with differing customs and cultures and with bloodshed aplenty. I just hoped Rolof would reach the Nordic afterlife along with Kaif and Hodor and whomever else had needlessly died on this grim day.

"He was a good man and his death was unfortunate but now we must move on or else we'll be in this blasted place for days on end," said Ulfric to me solemnly before lifting his hand from my shoulder and going on after the group, now greatly dwindled in numbers.

That there could very well be no exit and that this was our death sentence was left unsaid. And like that, we left in silence; letting the body rot until it would be consumed by the decomposers of this world, whomever they may be.

We passed a larger amount of short, dirt corridors and outcroppings on our way to the next clearing which I hoped against hope would be our last. After our fourth turn along the corridors from the place of Rolof's demise, Regan attempted to strike up a small conversation with me, perhaps not wanting to suffer the constant silence that we were currently experiencing any longer, to lift this fog of seriousness and battle-hardness.

"So… what are you doing here? A civilian getting the chopping block with a bunch of Stormcloaks. My! You sure must've riled up some old Imperial feathers," Regan laughed as if the joke amused him greatly; although, one could easily spot the weariness on his face just as well.

I didn't laugh. Regan hadn't been left unscathed, not by a long shot and neither had I been left whole either.

"Me? Well…" taking a step over a rough stone that jutted out of the landscape, I continued, "… I got myself caught while crossing the border."

"Then what that female bitch said was true, you are an Imperial aren't you?" he asked accusingly.

I just scowled back at him.

"An Imperial fighting Imperials. A Stormcloak Imperial!" Regan began chuckling again.

We had just taken our fifth corner when we found ourselves in a dark and damp, circular lair of certain evil. Silence descended as immediately, before anyone could even react, black oozing poison hit the face of the still chuckling Regan, entering his open mouth and sliding down his throat.

His shaking body fell and hit the ground as his mouth attempted to produce a scream of nightmares while gurgling on the sour and deadly poison. I couldn't bring up more energy then just to slightly open my eyes wider in shock. Oh Hell.

Ulfric and Galmar ignored the screaming Nord and advanced onto our new enemies. A colony of giant, arachnid spiders that had just killed Regan... and they would pay.

Within minutes, the chamber was filled with the corpses of the eight legged as I descended on the colony. The Imperial steel sword in my hands flew around like a tornado as I cut up spider after spider. I brought up the blade northwards and cut up one descending from the ceiling, dodged to the right from a hail of spider venom and then brought my blade down on a tiny bugger trying to strike Ulfric in the back.

There. The giant mother of the colony had entered the fray, unwinding from her ceiling abode, where she was ready to ambush anyone unwary enough to cross underneath her. Now she entered the throngs of butchery and debauchery.

I sprinted until my lungs thundered and split my chest as I swung my sword into the arachnid's body. It squealed and tried to wiggle out of my grasp as black blood oozed from its body but I did not give any ground. Holding onto the blade with my life, I slowly lifted myself up onto the spiders slime-coated body and slipped the sharp blade between the beady eyes and into the head of the beast.

With another squeal, it jerked and spasmed before lurching towards a pillar of rock. I jumped of it in the last moment, leaving my blade behind now coated in deadly poison, as the mother of spiders hit the pillar with enough force to shatter it and bring rocks crashing down on itself and some of its children. The swarm of spiders increased into the hundreds as they attempted to overwhelm us with sheer numbers.

"FUS! RO! DAH!"

As if a mighty gale had struck the chamber deep underneath the earth, all of the advancing, over-proportioned parasites flew into the air as one, their lithe bodies colliding with the cavern wall behind with such power that they were obliterated and turned to dust from sheer impact alone. The cavern shook as if in shock but thankfully did not cave in and end us all in an instant. Coughing out the spider dust in my lungs, I stared at Regan's struggling body holding its throat, spasms rocking through like earthquakes. The man had sheer moments left to live. I grabbed his hand.

His unfocused eyes fell on me as he gurgled out his last words, "To... Soven... garde..."

He did not speak again.

"Goodbye, Regan," and just like that I was gone as I trailed after Galmar with his huge battle-axe at hand out of the cavern, intent on getting out of this place for good. This had all been too much... too much to handle.

As we continued to move through more passageways in silence, I thought of the numerous amounts of death that had occurred that day. Without reason, I thought of the boy that I had seen earlier. Now that boy was burned alive – his remains under the rumble and ruin that had once been Helgen, many more would have suffered a similar fate. It was mortifying to even think about. All those bodies... flakes of skin, fingernails curled in on themselves, throats ripped out with a simple swipe of claws...

"At last," Galmar muttered out.

There was sunlight up ahead.

"Don't get your tunic in a twist yet Galmar," Ulfric gave a mighty laugh, also glad that we had finally reached the end of our bloody path, glad that there had been an end to it at all.

"You first," Ulfric turned and looked at me expectantly.

I hauled my way through the stone cracks and found myself in the wilds of a beautiful forest. I wanted to laugh, to cry... I wouldn't – I couldn't.

Ulfric came up to me, "Ah, what wonder nature truly is. When she is not trying to kill you that is. Galmar! Galmar, what is taking you so long?"

No reply came from the cave.

"Galmar?" Ulfric asked worriedly again, leaving my side to peer into the opaque hole.

"I'm alright! It was nothing, just a bear is all. Tried to ambush me as I was leaving, bloody thing left a scar!" Galmar grunted as he heaved himself through the hole, his bloodied battle-axe trailing on the ground behind him next to a clawed mark on his leg where there had been steel before, his ruffled and bent armour adorned with new bear claw marks that clung heavily against his skin.

Suddenly, a roar pierced the air. The dragon flew overhead as it left the devastated Helgen behind, its enormous wings carrying it onwards, perhaps to sack yet another stone town and scorch it into ruin and depression. With neither water powers nor Anaklusmos by my side, I would be unable to stop it. I was useless.

"Well it seems that we need to split up Percy Jackson," Ulfric said.

I arched an eyebrow with some effort, "How do you know my name?"

"Just because I was gagged on the cart, does not mean that I was not listening traveller. There is a town by the name of Riverwood just down the stream at the end of this path. We cannot show up there as there would undoubtedly be Imperial spies in the settlement. I would suggest you join us in Windhelm, you would make a fine Stormcloak you know – what with that sword-throw and the battle with the Giant Frostbite Spider; however, a dragon attacked Helgen and Riverwood lies defenceless. Go to Riverwood, rest and then leave for Whiterun. Find Jarl Balgruuf the Greater and warn him of the threat. If you ever desire to join us, you will always be welcome in Windhelm."

I was surprised that he had been so attentive to my actions, "Thanks, I guess. So is this Goodbye?"

"For now it is best that we leave traveller. Rolof's sister also lives in Riverwood so... I would consider it a favour to myself if you could inform her of his loss," Ulfric stopped speaking for a second and all was silent, "Good luck and may Talos guide you."

"Well I guess this is indeed goodbye. Ulfric, Galmar."

Galmar nodded his head and followed Ulfric Stormcloak as they went in the opposite direction of where the path led, seemingly back to Helgen. What they had forgotten there was anyone's guess.

I was left alone. Turning my back, I set off down the path, breathing deeply as I stared at mountains the size of the Empire State Building, lakes filled with buzzing, strange insects and butterflies roaming around freely. The only sounds around were that of the creatures in the wild, my own footsteps and the beating of my pounding heart.

I had made it. I had survived Helgen. Now I was all alone in the middle of the wilds in a strange and foreign place thrown into turmoil with kingdoms in peril. Lets go kill a dragon and save ourselves a princess.

I set off down the path to the river stream. The long, winding walk was a breath of fresh air after my previous nauseous episode. A light wind rustled the bushes and the grass that grew just next to the trail.

The wind caused them to sway, as if in a dance of hundreds of moving bodies, all weaving among each other in an unorthodox manner.

Amidst clearings; pines, fir and maple trees vied for attention among the forest, as they all tried to touch the delicate rays of the sun that gave them life ahead of any competitors and win the clash of survival. The acorns of oaks gleaming between the dense leaves reminded me of home.

My sweat felt frozen on my skin; sticky, oozing. Would I ever return home? Would I ever see my family again? Would I ever see Annabeth?

I did not know the answers to these questions, maybe I never would. Regardless, I had to go on. For if I did then there was a chance, even if it was small, that I would manage to achieve my goals and get the Hades out of here but if I stayed and did nothing I would be dooming myself to failure from the start as any Goodie School Coach would attest to.

Or perhaps there was no use to it all... perhaps it was all in vain. But surely not? I needed to defeat the dragon or whatever that was – _needed to_. Then I would return back home. It all made sense now.

With weary bones I finally arrived at the creek and took in long gulpfuls of water before doubling over in pain at the richness of it all. I must have been thirstier than I had ever thought to be possible, the adrenaline pumping through my veins clouding my senses.

I lay there for what seemed like hours on end, starring at the birds and the clouds lazily drifting by me as if I was an insignificant, little bug not worthy of their attentions before I tried again to drink some refreshingly cool water, this time more slowly than before.

My throat began to hurt less and my vision solidified to a more or less acceptable standard. My body really wasn't what it used to be when I had superpowers. My hands were shaking uncontrollably and there was nothing that I could do to stop it. I tried to swallow my fist whole and drown it in the shivering stream but when that didn't work, I just sat there, looking into the pale, blue sea.

I leaned my head against a sturdy rock. A very warm and leathery rock to boot. Since when were rocks leathery?

I sprang up in unusual fright. I had been correct, it had not been a rock. It had been a man in leather armour among half-a-dozen others armed with vicious axes, bleeding blades and sturdy, oaken shields.

"Easy there son. Easy," said a man with ginger locks and iron armour, his sword still at his hip, shield in his off-hand.

I ran. I do not know why, but I ran. I ran as fast as I could to get away. Far, far away from everyone in this place. I didn't think... I just ran. I needed to get home.

I could hear footsteps behind me. They were coming for me. No, it couldn't end like this! I ran even faster, wishing my feet to carry me far, far, far away from this place. Just like Lokir had – before he got an arrow in the back.

They were closing in now. I had to act fast!

Abruptly, I smashed my face into some kind of boulder and the world went red. Someone screamed. A brief flicker of turquoise that penetrated the heavens and concerned faces were the last things that I saw before I blackened out.


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III: Bearer of Bad Ills**

When I regained consciousness, I was in a marble inlaid storeroom, the textures reminiscent of the Olympian Throne room. It was pitch-black but there were voices, voices coming out of the door. I pressed myself closer, trying to eavesdrop on anything and everything that I could, feeling like a hungry mountain lion, starved for meat and bone.

 _... A third time!..._

 _... Prophecy..._

 _...Absolutely Not!..._

 _...Dormant Powers..._

 _...Poseidon!..._

My heart leapt to my throat. I was home. I pounded my fists against the door to attempt to make the Olympians notice me but to no avail. I was clouded from their vision.

 _...Have to..._

 _...Ancient Laws..._

 _...Your Fault..._

 _...Too late..._

 _...Fate..._

 _...Dragonborn..._

I beat more insistently on the unbudging door. Surely I could force it to move? At the very least, the Gods would hear me. _They must hear me!_

 _...Preposterous..._

 _...Prophecy..._

 _...Seventeen..._

 _...Strange..._

 _...Just Before..._

Out of nowhere, I felt pain erupt in my side.

 _...Perseus Jackson..._

Shaking my head left and right, I finally groaned out in pain to the morning sunlight. Dew hung outside the translucent windows as I held my head and groaned, sweat brimming from my forehead in rivers.

Running head-first into solid rock. Good going Percy. Great job.

Everything was aching. My spine, my arms, my legs – my everything. The great hero of Olympus just lay here in utter agony because that is what former praetors do nowadays. I tried to lie still but every time I did that the aching became even worse.

It was like Mt. St Helens all over again, just this time with dragon fire instead of liquefying lava. Trying to stand up was pointless, I could scarcely breathe, let alone walk upright on two feet. When had been the last time that I was immobilized due to injuries? Oh right, the last time had been when I had blown up a freaking _volcano_ and it still hadn't hurt like this!

Granted, I was kind of mortal now and without oceanic protection a full breath of dragon fire did kind of put a damper on things. I wondered if I could get the Curse of Achilles here too – it would be so worth it when facing... well, anything really. Then again snoozing uncontrollably did have its drawbacks, like it made you extremely easy to kidnap (speaking from real-life experience here).

I stared at the elongated silver leaves of a potted plant dangling over the stiff table. It gave off a faint aroma that permeated the room, smelling oddly like lavender. I took in a lung-full. Moonlace... it reminded me of Moonlace.

I accidentally brushed my hand against a fist-sized bottle while trying to reach for the potted plant. It was maroon in colour and had a white mushroom-like cork screwed on top, I had seen something like this before. It seemed like years ago but this was the same thing that Rolof had poured down my throat when I was slowly dying on the floor of the keep. It would help me recover. It would heal me.

I gently attempted to grab the bottle and succeeded on my fourth try, bringing the cork out and tipping the bottle to my lips. Sweet honey mixed with brown sugar poured out, making my head yearn for more until I had emptied the entire thing and set it back on the table, not even a drop being left on my lips.

After that it was easy to get out of the bed covered in goat hide and head out to the opened door through which mouth-watering roasted pork could be smelt from over a kilometre away. I could do with some sizzling bacon right about now.

I was in some sort of tavern. It was mostly deserted at this time of morning; however, a woman was already hard at work, scrubbing the tarnished tables around the main room with water and cloth.

The roof overhead was supported by sturdy wooden beams, while half-way through the tavern, smoke drifted upwards from the put-out ashen firewood in the fire-pit. A trapdoor in the roof seemed to have been opened where the smoke was now escaping through into the wilds of this strange place that I now found myself in.

Overall, the tavern seemed spacious, almost homely. I wondered if those men, that I had met just before I went ballistic, had brought me here. To get answers, I went to the bar where an olive-skinned creature stood with long, canine teeth extending past its lips. Yesterday, I would have doubled over in sheer incredulity. Today I didn't even raise an eyebrow. I was truly in a different and surreal world and that was so much more frightening than whatever songs the guy listened to on his iPod.

"Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn, respected guest. We hope you had a good nights sleep. My name is Orgnar, son of Morthin. I am the inn's cook and bartender. Would you perhaps like something to drink?"

"Ah, thanks. I don't have any money on me though."

"Truly?" Orgnar asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes."

Orgnar, son of Morthin, scrubbed an iron-decorated mug that belonged in the medieval ages and looked too tiny amidst his huge hands. Orgnar looked deep in thought as he occasionally glanced at me but said nothing. Here was a man, or whomever he was, uncorrupted by globalization.

Now I just had to make sure that my ADHD didn't click on the suicide button while it waited for something more interesting to latch onto other than Orgnar's brutish fingernails.

Finally, he spoke, "Your stories gotta be entertaining and considering the only other entertainment around these parts are Sven's songs and his old mams wild tales, not that I've got anything against Hilde, I've gotta say that a mead is more than worth it. Come, there are no customers in the morning, you can tell me about your journey around a comfortable seat near the warm embers of the put out fire."

In moments the two of us were sitting at the table with two mugs of Nordic mead in hand. I wasn't completely sure if it was even legal for me to be drinking at this age but then again I hadn't seen any of the laws of this place and besides, who was going to stop me?

I took a heartfelt gulp and then immediately smashed the mug down onto the table while screwing my eyes shut as I felt every coal-like lump of nuclear oil slide down at an agonizing snail's pace through my gullet, probably leaving it scarred for life.

Apparently I was going to stop myself pretty quickly from drinking even if there were no laws in place banning it from the consumption of legal-age minors.

"You guys drink powerful stuff here," I managed to cough out.

"Indeed, it is much stronger than the summer wines of the Summerset Isles and the brandy imported from nearby Cyrodill and High Rock. I'd even go so far to say that it is even on par with Ungorth from my Orsimer homeland! But tell me stranger, what is your name?"

"Percy. Percy Jackson. Nice to meet you," I outstretched my hand.

The Orsimer just looked at it and raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I am still getting used to this place," and committing social faux pas's remained unsaid.

Orgnar just raised his mug higher and clinked his mug against mine, a soft 'Chink' echoing against the timber walls. "Tis alright. It is understandable. I am Orgnar, son of Morthin, and you are Percy, son of Jackson. Strange names, but in these times nothing is normal any more. I must say... I am intrigued. You were found by a group setting out to find what had caused the fires at Helgen, when they found you, half-crazed and running into Standing Stones from what I hear."

I chuckled, "Not my best moment. I was escaping Helgen."

If he was not interested before, then Orgnar was definitely interested now, "Do you know what happened there by any chance?"

"It was burned down by a dragon," I said flatly before taking another gulp of the Nordic drink against my better judgement and letting the liquid gradually eat away at my internal body parts with a hunger reminiscent of a winged monstrosity that I would have liked not be reminded of about so damn much.

"A dragon?! But those have been gone for at least a thousand years! They're a myth!" exclaimed Orgnar.

I looked across the table and right into Orgnar's eyes, "Myths don't burn down villages."

The Orsimer bartender seemed to consider the possibility.

"Tell you what, if it was a dragon that attacked Helgen as you claim then someone needs to alert the Jarl. Riverwood is defenceless! He is located in Whiterun, just North of here. Here, I will show you," Orgnar then proceeded to fetch and open up a spare map and show me where I needed to go and what roads I needed to take.

Orgnar didn't know it but he had just mimicked the words of one Ulfric Stormcloak as I was once again given a quest to deliver information of the existence of dragons to an unknown authority figure in an unknown city and in an unknown land.

"It will be best to depart soon, as the journey isn't short and the weather unpredictable. I would advise you to visit the general goods store in our village. You might get some better clothing and some supplies as well for your journey."

"Thank you, Orgnar, then I will go now," I stopped drinking from my mug, figuring the quicker that I left, the quicker that I could get this over with and figure out what I needed to do next to get back home.

"Yes, Yes. Be safe on the roads. Maybe get yourself a weapon? The roads are dangerous these days. Till we meet again and maybe next time you will actually tell me of your adventures _and_ buy your own mead," quipped Orgnar with what was supposed to be a grin but instead looked like he was about to eat me whole, as he collected the mugs and brought them behind the counter.

I said my goodbyes and went for the door leading outside. Only then did I notice that the woman that I had passed by when leaving wasn't really cleaning the tables any more but instead was standing elegantly with her shoulders set firmly and her back to me but I decided to not pay it any mind as I got myself my first taste of this village called Riverwood.

The air was stale and crisp to the tongue. Only the edges of the sun were actually seen from where it was pierced by what must have been the tallest mountains that I had ever gawked upon in my life, covered in forests worth of evergreen trees and separate mountains worth of snow alone at its peak.

The water in the local river lazily drifted downstream where already some fishermen seated on rocks and short grass attempted to haul in fresh salmon in the early morning's rays.

I moved down the steps and onto the paved cobblestone road. The 'Clangs' of the smithies hammers were heard all the way from here. Various unfamiliar birds chirped in a symphony that seemed to brighten the day with its sheer presence, appearing to bloom every wild mountain flower that it made contact with. It was magical and stood in stark contrast to Manhattan's busy streets and even busier netflix-riddled life.

Under these circumstances, I could almost forget what had happened just in the last day as I marvelled at the serene morning. Spotting the sign of the general goods store, I went on to enter it, a recently-added bell ringing to signify my arrival.

Opening the door, I bore witness to a verbal fight between what appeared to be brother and sister. Not wanting to get into the thick of it, I waited for them to finish yelling about their issues that were surely more important than any ancient, incredibly-hungry, powerful dragon that wanted to scorch them alive.

"Well one of us has to do something!"

"I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

"Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!"

"We are done talking about this! Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that. My sister is just a bit moody right now," the shopkeeper gave her a glance, as if daring her to contradict him to which his sister just visibly but silently fumed, "I'm assuming you are here to purchase something. Correct?"

"Actually, no-"

"Well then I am sorry sir, but we are closed for today. We sadly have very important matters to settle here and-"

"But-"

"Don't worry sir. I'm sure we can deal with your needs tomorrow," the shopkeeper muttered as I was pretty much kicked out of the shop and the lock locked shut behind me.

Bummer. Now how was I supposed to save the world?

I stood around like an idiot for a few seconds outside of the general goods store before crossing a bridge to what seemed to be a lumber mill. Well I needed to get some of the local currency first and maybe someone would offer me a job that could yield enough to get me the supplies needed to get to Whiterun in the first place. Or I could just ask for a donation to one under-payed demigod millennial.

A man in a white tunic with a simple leather belt splitting firewood was the first person that I saw beneath the behemoth that was the lumber mill. His hands moved with precision and ease, his footing as solid as a trunk. This man must have been chopping wood his entire life to do so at that speed and with that sort of skill.

He turned towards me. His face looked familiar.

"Fancy meeting you here stranger! Last time we met you were half-mad and runnin' yourself hoarse into Standing Stones!"

There was that word again, Standing Stones. Just what had I hit?

"Standing Stones?"

"Magical Stones three meters high located throughout Skyrim. Legend tells of the stones grantin' special powers to heroes of old, givin' them the ability to rewrite their very fates. The stones only seem to respond to certain individuals and it is unknown what the qualifier for this is which makes you special! Congratulations, you have activated the Warrior Stone and... well that's it. I am not sure what happens next. Forgive me for ramblin'..." he twisted his hand as if asking for something.

"Percy. Percy Jackson."

"Strange name, Percy of clan Jackson. I am Hod, owner of this lumber mill along with my wife Gerdur. I am goin' to assume you did not come all the way here from the Sleeping Giant Inn to just debate the nature of ancient, magical rocks. What brings you here?" he asked, elbows leaning against his giant axe.

"Well I have been asked by Orgnar and by... someone else to report to Jarl Balgruuf what had happened in Helgen and how Riverwood needs aid," I said.

Hod's eyebrows climbed into his braided hair line, "You've been at Helgen? What happened there?"

"A dragon attacked," I said.

"By Ysmir, Ulfric Stormcloak was at Helgen wasn't he?" he looked truly shaken.

"Well, Ulfric Stormcloak survived. He was the one to give me the message in the-"

Hod's hand clamped across my mouth faster than a viper leaping onto its prey before he made a shushing gesture, "Not a word more. Understand that... certain people have a more... negative view of Ulfric and could resort to means that nobody would find funny expect perhaps for the Thalmor themselves. Follow me to my house discreetly and we shall discuss more there."

I nodded my head, utterly bewildered, before Hod released his hand from my mouth and silently trekked with his hand firmly grasping his axe back to the the largest house in the whole of Riverwood with me following a couple of feet behind, massaging my neck.

When we entered the not so humble-abode, Hod had checked left and right before bolting the door shut.

"Now we can talk," he finally muttered while pouring three cups of wine around the only table in the place.

"Talk about what?" said who I presumed to be Gerdur, Hod's wife, as she lifted herself from her bed, "You know I was going to sleep-in today Hod-"

"He has been at Helgen," he pointed a finger at me, "And he has a mission from Ulfric Stormcloak."

Gerdur's eyes widened at the announcement, "My brother Rolof, is he alright? Have you met him?"

Gerdur had a look in her eyes... it reminded me... it reminded me of my mother every time that I came back home to our small apartment from a dangerous, life-threatening quest. Thing was, I always survived – but Rolof... Rolof did not.

"Yes mam, I knew him. Rolof... Rolof is dead."


	4. Chapter IV

_**Chapter IV: A Dastardly Letter**_

" _Yes mam, I knew him. Rolof... Rolof is dead."_

We sipped on wine as Gerdur cried her life out, Hod trying his best to comfort her. The heartbroken woman had tears streaking through her closed fingers, seeping into her dirty blonde locks and sliding down her plain dress. I sat there uncomfortably for what seemed like hours, recounting the events that had transpiredand praising Rolof for saving my life and being a hero that served Ulfric Stormcloak faithfully.

I omitted some parts, such as the morbid torturer's chambers and the bridge incident – instead opting to tell them that Rolof fell in battle against an Imperial officer honourably, like a true Nord warrior.

"If only – if only he hadn't left! He would be here today. He didn't even say goodbye!" sobbed Gerdur into a small towel that Hod had passed her only moments before, "Did... did you at least kill the Imperial bastard?".

"Yes, he died a gruesome death at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak himself."

Hod gave me a glance as if he didn't believe me though I had actually fabricated very little in my narrative, instead opting to just omit the most savage of details.

"That's... that's good," she sniffled, "He will go to Sovengarde!"

Then she burst into more tears, drenching the towel until it was dripping water in turn.

"There, there Gerdur. He has gone on to a higher plane of existence, Tis all. He will meet his ancestors and even Shor himself. Lets drink to Rolof now."

"Yes, yes he will," Gerdur mumbled as she drank the wine with shaking fingers, downing the entire cup in one go.

I also took a few sips in remembrance of the man who saved my life and all the others that had died yesterday. Just seconds ago I had been passing through tunnels, with Regan attempting to induce some humour. Now he was dead and I am once more alone.

Gerdur, still sniffling, asked after some silence, "Where is Frodnar?"

"Frodnar is out with the other boys," said Hod.

"Thank Mara," Gerdur further leaned into Hod's arms.

"Well-" I said as I started standing up.

"Sit," Hod's voice left no room for argument.

I remained sitting in the room, a room filled to the brim with melancholy _and remembrance of those that were not present among us._

"Now that we know that a dragon has come back, there is a serious issue that we must discuss. A day or so ago a group of people from Riverwood left westwards by the road. They-" Gerdur began crying once more in Hod's hands as he continued to explain, "they haven't come back yet. Riverwood isn't worried for now but we know that they were Talos-worshippers just as we are. The dragon is unlikely to have gotten them but... they need to be found. Do this for me and we will help you with a house here and all the gold you need. Please Percy."

Maybe it was my 'saving peoples' thing but I didn't hesitate to accept, "I will do it."

"Good lad. Take Faendal with you. He knows these woods as well as I do."

"Faendal?"

"He's the only bosmer in town. He can be found at the lumber mill – he has long pointed ears and white hair. You won't miss him."

"Alright Hod. Guess I will go then," I said, standing up and stretching out my feet.

Hod gave me a nod.

Before I could leave; however, Gerdur came flying at me and hugged me with the strength of a Minotaur. I hugged her back.

"Thank you for telling us about... about Rolof. Thank you."

"You're welcome... Gerdur. I need to go now and find the missing people, alright?"

"Yes," Gerdur looked slightly ashamed of herself, "Good luck and... don't die."

"I won't, I promise."

I left a sobbing Gerdur and her husband Hod and went off back towards the lumber mill, the sun high in the sky. A lone elf was chopping wood at this time of day, bringing the axe on groups of cut logs. As Hod had described him, Faendal had white hair and pointed ears. If not for them, his defecated-upon face would quite easily pass as that of a humans.

As I approached, Faendal turned his head in my direction, "Hello Traveller, did I see you talking to Sven? Maybe not. Maybe... nevermind. But I would stay away from him if I were you."

I gestured with the palm of my hand and sat down on one of the logs, "What's your problem with Sven?"

"He's a bard, so he says. Occasionally he finds time to do his job here at the mill. Thinks his ballads and sonnets are going to convince Camilla Valerius to marry him. As if she would say 'yes'. An intelligent, beautiful woman like her wouldn't fall for that nonsense... I hope."

This guy must've not watched the bachelorette before, "You're right. When have words ever inspired feelings of love?"

"I don't need your jokes right now. But... maybe you have a point. Maybe Camilla needs some help to see Sven for what he really is."

Not what I meant. Please don't drag me into this. Please don't drag me into this. Please don't-

"Could you... could you give her this letter, and say it's from Sven? I think I've matched that Nord's lack of cleverness perfectly."

"Well actually you see, Hod sent me. He said that we need to go into the woods to find some lost people ASAP. Lets do that first and _then_ I will help you win over Camilla."

"No, I don't believe you. Bring Hod over here or else help me with this monumental task of bringing down a Nordic dimwit and making Skyrim a more bearable place to live. Then we will set forth to find your lost people," Faendal said from his wooden stump triumphantly.

I thought of calling Hod but he was comforting Gerdur right now and after getting her brother killed, I couldn't just waltz in and demand that instead of grieving that they array up and help me do some minor task. That would make me resemble the gods – and not in a good way.

"Fine. I'll do it."

"Excellent. Here is the letter," he handed over some tied up parchment. Seems that Faendal had this all planned out from the very beginning, "She's in the inn. Tell me as soon as you've given Camilla the letter!"

"You'll definitely help me then?" I asked just to make sure that we were on the same page.

"Yes. Whatever you need."

I had never heard less reassuring words. I gradually started walking off towards the inn. Beggars couldn't be choosers... but they could still read letters.

 _'My Dearest Camilla,_

 _I yearn to have you as my own,_

 _Washing my linens,_

 _And my fine blond hair,_

 _To cook my dinner from my stove,_

 _And tend to my house while I wander._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Sven.'_

Yeah, after such a letter, Sven would have very limited chances in any conservative society. Gabe's parents came to mind for one. I visibly shuddered. Poor Sven.

I entered the inn which was populated by people taking a mid-day break when I realized a problem. Just who was Camilla?

That was when the only bard in the room started to break into song.

 _So we sing our songs,  
Drink our mead,  
And eat thy boar.  
Never do we think…  
Of nevermore,  
The feel of mead.  
And so, we sing our songs,  
For the end to come.  
To claim our lives,  
In dusty caves,  
Our corpses eaten raw!  
Spirits raise and fly…  
Away to Sovengarde.  
Far away from here,  
Adventure lies in wait!  
And so we sing our songs,  
Drink our mead,  
And eat thy boar.  
And Never do we think…  
Of nevermore,  
The feel of mead.  
And never do we think,  
Of what the future be,  
For it's only you and me,  
And a cherry, merry tune.  
And so we drink our mead,  
For tomorrows a day anew…  
A hopeful final tune,  
For the night approaches fast,  
And lie down soon I must.  
And so we sing our songs,  
Drink our mead,  
And eat thy boar.  
And Never do we think…  
Of nevermore,  
The feel of mead.  
And so we sing our songs,  
Drink our mead,  
And eat thy boar.  
And never do we think…  
Of nevermore,  
The feel of mead._

After the hearty clapping had subsided, I approached the blonde musician after I was sure that I wouldn't be overheard above the murmurs in the tavern.

"Nice song."

"Thank you, it's my personal creation during this Age of Strife, which is also the name of the song. I am Sven. I've been trained as a skald, as was my father, and my father's father before him."

"I am Percy Jackson, nice to meet you. If you don't mind, but could you please point out Camilla in this room?"

Sven looked me over before his eyes settled on the closed letter at my side.

"You're a courier aren't you? Faendal thinks that he can woo Camilla Valerius away from me. She's already mine, I keep telling him," Sven muttered under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Oh sorry, nothing. Just... reminiscing about an event," Sven mentioned, distracted.

"Huh, I could swear that I heard the name Faendal somewhere in there."

"Faendal is my... _rival_ so to speak," Sven said it in a tone that seemed to indicate that he wanted to use something a lot more derogatory to describe Faendal as, instead of as a mere 'rival'.

"You and Faendal both like the same girl?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Camilla Valerius knows I'm the best man in Riverwood. That elf is kidding himself if he thinks she would choose him over me," his face scrunched up whether in anger or disgust I could not tell, then he leaned in closer, "I've seen him sneaking over to the Riverwood Trader to speak with her when I'm not around. He's wasting his time!"

Another idiotic love-struck idiot, "Yes. Two people spending time together never blossoms into anything romantic."

"Is that sarcasm? I've heard better wisecracks from Orgnar. Still you have a point. Camilla letting Faendal visit her isn't a good thing for me."

Oh no, not again. No way.

"Here. Give Camilla this letter. It's full of venomous nonsense. Tell her it's from Faendal."

There was definitely a god somewhere around here. Only with divine help could something like this horror be created. Who knew sarcasm was someone's godly domain?

"That letter ought to convince Camilla to never speak to Faendal ever again."

I just took the letter on auto-pilot. This whole situation was just too surreal. By the time I got into myself, Sven was long gone and I was at the other end of the Inn with the second letter in hand.

 _'Dear Camilla,_

 _I know I have called upon you at your house many times, and while we may be growing close, I need you to put any desires you may have for me aside._

 _I am a true-born son of Valenwood, and I could never befoul my bloodline by courting an Imperial._

 _I hope we can remain true friends , provided you understand your people's place in the Aldmeri Dominion, and respect me as such._

 _Sincerely, Faendal.'_

Dear Gods. What had I done?

I needed one of Orgnar's drinks right about now. "Orgnar!"

Within a minute I had a couple of alcoholic-intensive drinks lined up. Why was I even doing this messaging service anyways? I remembered Gerdur's crying face. Oh Hades, why is life so complicated? I was between a rock and a hard place. Why couldn't I just escape somewhere far, far away where nobody would bother me? Somewhere like Ogygia...

A plain looking woman of about twenty years of age sat down next to me, slightly swaying. Her long, yellow dress brushed the floor, emphasising her dark eyes and brunette bun. She looked familiar.

"Excuse me, but why is such an attractive stranger sitting all alone in the corner of an Inn?" she asked out of nowhere.

I stumbled over what to say, "Just an Imperial looking for a drink."

"Oh really? Well that makes the two of us. I am also from Cyrodill," she gave me a big smile full of sincere warmth.

"Well then, what are you doing so far from home?"

Her eyes turned downcast, "It got bad back in Cyrodill. The war with the Dominion ruined... everything. I came to Skyrim looking for a better life. And what did I get? Another war!"

The lady took one of the smaller mugs and gulped down its contents. Not to be out-done, I chugged down a mug the size of two of my fists standing atop each other. It made my throat burn like the forges of Hephaestus but I wasn't going to be outdone in something as trivial as drinking.

"Well such is life. I myself fought in two wars back to back," I said grimacing from the fiery inferno left on the tongue.

"Oh," she arched an eyebrow and leaned forward, "You're a warrior?

"More of a leader. Led armies to victory several times and defeated monsters the likes of which no mortal has seen. What about you?"

"I work with my brother Lucan at the Riverwood Trader. Sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I am Camilla Valerius, at your service."

Camilla? There was something I needed to do with Camilla. Something that I needed to do...

"Percy, Percy Jackson."

"Well here's to meeting you, Percy Jackson," we downed some of the bigger mugs now, brimming with intoxicating substances that would make my mum faint with fury.

Why was the ceiling on the floor? Was that a Mammoth? Cool, wonder if it ate carrots.

"Percy-"

"Umm?" I replied, thinking of a tiger getting its mouth stuck agar by a giant marshmallow.

"Lets find a room," said Camilla.

We stumbled like two giant idiots, randomly laughing at some joke or other as we crashed onto a bed. Who said that dimension travel couldn't be fun?


	5. Chapter V

_**Chapter V: Hiccups grow from idleness**_

I opened my eyes to a dull grey ceiling. Owls hooted in the night sky atop tree branches of old oak and spruce. The outside darkness seeped and slithered into the room through every crack that it could find. The moon hidden behind the clouds of eternal sleep.

I shifted and then froze as I felt my chest hit an unexplained barrier – a body. A warm breath breezed its way over my skin, keeping me comfortable even with the night chill permeating the air outside. I lifted my arm and the body snuggled in even closer. I couldn't form a coherent thought. I just lay there and stared at the ceiling as my poor brain worked overtime trying to figure out just how I managed to get in bed with the target of the two dastardly letters in the first place.

I could smell a soft scent of grapes and wheat exuding from her lips. So we had been drunk. That explained a lot.

An Owl hooted out of tune in the background amidst the canopy of its brethren. Oh sweet Hera – Annabeth! Dear Zeus, how was I going to explain this?!

The little Devil on my shoulder whispered in my ear, 'Explain what? Annabeth's not here. No one is here. You have moved dimensions, witnessed massacre after massacre, killed a person and had to comfort grieving women. So you got drunk, so you slept with a girl, so what?'

But this would break Annabeth's heart. When I was gone, she had waited for me for months on end. And I just betrayed that trust on my second day here. I was a monster.

The Devil continued whispering in my ear, 'Well then wasn't your time with Rachael also considered cheating? Calypso?'

That was different.

'How?'

Well for one, I didn't sleep with them!

'But you had wanted to. Don't your thoughts also count?'

I thought about it for a really long time. What I did, was it really that bad? Or was it justified? Who am I kidding – I cheated on the girl I jumped into Tartarus for. Of course this was bad.

'You were drunk. Even if this was a mistake, its only natural. You are a human too – and humans tend to make mistakes. Even the gods, and you are _not_ a god.'

A good compromise. Blame it on someone else. I could never make it work in my sixteen (seventeen?) years of existence. Actually that was a lie. I blamed everyone expect for myself: the Gods, Nico, Thaila; everyone expect for me.

'And how about Michael Yew? Charles Beckendorf? Silena Beaurgard? Bianica De Angelo? Face it, you blame yourself for everything. It isn't healthy.'

"Shut up! I get to decide if I want to blame myself, not you!"

"Hmm?" Camilla murmured as she leaned upwards and moved her head to rest near my neck instead of my chest.

Camilla moved and rubbed herself against my side. I had never seen a more erotic scene in my life, Aphrodite herself would pale in comparison. Never in my life did I think that I could emphasize with Alexander of Troy... seems I was wrong about that too.

I dragged my hand through her hair, "Sleep Camilla, sleep."

"Mm," she groaned before falling back into peaceful slumber.

Man, what had I dragged myself into?

* * *

 _I was falling._

 _The drop seemed infinite, large slabs of rock descended until the very end of the earth's crust, sloping like some wormhole sucking in everything into its chaotic whirlpool. I was falling, falling down and the sunlight seemed to stutter and falter. Chaos in the deep. Dragon roaring at the top of the keep. Annabeth's crying face. I was nearing the bottom, so close yet so distant at the same time. This was the end. This was the-_

I woke up with a jolt. I did not remember when I had fallen asleep again but I must've been very tired seeing as it was day yet again. I turned around from facing the wall and came gazing at Camilla's beautiful figure – this time in a much shorter dress and her bun undone. She was sitting patiently on a chair by the bedside, reading a tome decorated with hand-drawn pictures of castles.

"I've brought you breakfast," she gave me a genuine smile, indicating with her left hand a tray filled with what mildly resembled an omelet with some leeks at the side.

"Thank you. What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. Although," her smile turned Cheshire as she threw some open parchment at me, "Someone's been a naughty boy"

The open parchments were the letters from Sven and Faendal.

"I wonder how you will explain that?" she folded her arms challengingly.

I scratched my head on how I was going to get out of this one. She didn't seem too upset but then who knew what went on inside of a woman's mind? Or for that matter what she already knew? I blurted out what had happened yesterday leaving the, 'please don't kill me' unsaid.

She seemed to ponder a bit before moving the tray to the side and leaning over to me.

"This... is for the truth," she kissed me slowly and passionately.

She leaned back and lightly slapped me, "This... is for taking the letters in the first place."

"And this –" she straddled me, "– is for last night."

I emerged from the tavern a couple of hours later, well rested for the first time in a while and a lot less conflicted then I had ever been since Helgen. Passer-byes on the street greeted me for the first time and treated me almost like family. I was finally getting accepted. Today was a good day. With a skip to my step, I made my way over to the lumber mill where I found Faendal, once again chopping wood on a tree stump.

"Faendal!"

Unlike last time, the elf wasn't attentive and was startled by my greeting, "Yes? Have you... have you delivered the letter?"

"Yes, I have actually."

"What took you so long?" he asked me suspiciously.

"I fell asleep at the tavern by accident and forgot to come back here."

Faendal went off to store his woodcutter's axe but I could swear he muttered, 'How typical of humans' along the way.

"Humph," Faendal snorted once he re-joined me, "So, what did she say?"

"I don't think Camilla will be spending any more time with Sven."

Or with you for that matter. If I could lie to hundreds of people to net enough cash for air tickets to deliver the freaking master bolt to New York, then I could damn do it now to not get an arrow in my back in the middle of the woods.

"I appreciate your help in this matter. Lets go to the forest then and find those people that you were so desperate to find. The pre-noon sun shall surely help us with our efforts."

We left Riverwood by the west-road and walked upon the snaking cobbled paths that slithered throughout the forest and the river bed. Puffy clouds floated off in the distance, accenting the sky with various shades of white. Thick, clear streams swished through the river, carrying along water from the high mountain tops and gorges. I stared for quite the while.

"Riverwood is beautiful," I commented, breaking the silence.

"Riverwood's agreeable enough, I suppose. For a Nord village," Faendal said, an unlucky rabbit dangling from his belt.

"Have you seen many villages then?" I asked.

"Not really, no. I tended to live in cities after I left the orphanage."

"Orphanage?"

"My parents were taken by a flood shortly after we settled down in Skyrim. I got stuck in the orphanage in Riften and grew up there under Helga the 'Kind' even though she was the biggest hag that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"Oh. My condolences," I knew of many demigods that had also lost their mortal parent when they were very young and it never ended well for the demigod in question.

"Thank you, even if I don't need your condolences. And you were right. There's beauty here unmatched in all of Skyrim, to be sure."

Somehow, I doubted that he was referring to the nature around the place or the village itself but instead to a certain person in particular.

"Oh don't look at me like that. Yes, I am referring to Camilla by Arkay's bones," Faendal suddenly blew up, channelling long-repressed anger.

"But I wasn't asking?"

"Not verbally, yes, but internally you were _burning with desire,_ " he spit out.

"What makes you believe that?"

"Come off it. Everybody knows about your tryst in the village! At this rate Lucan will have you two married before the week ends!"

Well shit. So that's why the villagers were so friendly...

"How?"

"This is a small village for Akatosh's sake, not a city of any sizeable proportions. News travels fast here, gossip even faster. You're lucky you haven't seen Sven yet. That weakling Nord will probably try to kill you and get his oafish arse handed back to him on a silver platter."

Which left the question of what would the other man do to me in the middle of a forest where no one was watching? I started walking more moderately so that he wouldn't catch me off-guard.

"What about you then?"

"What about me? I should've been smarter than trusting a complete stranger with a letter that could implicate me to Camilla. That she so easily got on with you is the work of fate and fate alone and we elves don't mess with the inner workings of the divines. The Dwemer did it, and they paid for it most dearly."

The little Devil chirped in at my side, 'Or maybe he's just bidding his time. Taking you alone with him into the woods. He is fully armed – you don't even have a dagger!'

Somehow in all of the excitement, I had indeed forgotten to get myself a weapon. This... this was not looking so great. The Curse of Achilles would be really useful right about now.

We walked on, past the Standing Stones that I had banged my head against, past the bend that took you to Helgen and onwards on a new path that Faendal said would take us 'straight to Falkreath'.

The journey was stretching on, so I decided to press on in the conversation and break the awkward silence and embarrassment that now everybody knew about my... night with Camilla, "So, where did you live, after you left the orphanage?"

Faendal seemed to have calmed down enough to answer the question. Not much else to do on the road other than to walk and talk.

"First in Riften, lived there as the blacksmith's apprentice; however, I never could find joy in the work. Then I moved to Windhelm. In those years before the civil war, we the bosmer, were treated with decency. As long as we did our part, the Nords would do theirs and everything rolled along smoothly.

"Now with the civil war and the ever increasing influx of Dunmer refugees into the city, due to the Argorian offensives in the South, the construction of infrastructure has been put in higher regard than the conflict itself and relations are strained because sometimes even Nordic children get left outside on the streets to make way for the people coming in. With food supplies from Falkreath and High Rock further cut out of the equation, this has put incredible strain on food supplies to the city. And people don't like to go hungry.

"Then... lets see here. I lived in Winterhold for nearly a year but found it to be too damn cold. After that I briefly stayed at Rorikstead and then moved to Whiterun. I lived there for a couple of years, mostly practising my archery in the ranges at the Companion's guildhall and on the creatures dwelling outside of the city proper before I got bored with city life and so here I dwell for now.

"Then you hit on Camilla. Thank you for that again," he said in an extremely sarcastic tone of voice, "Now I'm thinking of moving on, maybe to Ivarstead this time to climb the Seven-Thousand Steps. How about you? Where have you been to traveller?"

"Me? Well I have-"

Faendal pulled me suddenly into the bushes and I thought I was a goner right then and there before he said, "Quiet! I can _smell_ blood."

I couldn't help but ask, "Don't elves eat leaves or something?"

He looked at me as if I was crazy and showed his sharpened teeth, "The bosmer follow the green pact. We are one with the nature. We cannot destroy nature and cannot consume anything green, idiotic human. We eat meat. And if you don't shut up, I will eat _you._ "

I stopped talking pretty quickly after that. The crazy bosmer took a few moments more to sniff around before he was satisfied.

"The blood is stale, let's move. I think we might have just found your people."

We walked past a felled tree and a large rock on the right covered in moss and tiny critters whose sole aim in life was to make ours more difficult than it had to be. Straight ahead was a short step-like path that lead to a rocky promontory.

Over it stood a statue of an armoured man with a winged helm atop his head and a great sword in his hands, engulfed in the body of a giant serpent. At the foot of the shrine were bodies, bodies of all four of the dead Talos worshippers and an alien elf in dyed golden robes adorned with navy blue markings.

"Who is that?"

"That looks to be a Thalmar Justiciar whose sole aim is to prevent the worship of Talos and to pass punishment on those who practise it in secret. And it seems that he is deceased as well. Probably killed each other in a blood bath – hence the large amount of blood. Here, read for yourself," Faendal passed me the letter that he had read earlier as I had examined the corpses.

 _'Agent Sanyon,_

 _In response to your report dated 22nd Morning Star 401, your request for an expeditionary force is hereby denied._

 _Sanyon, this is the seventh report you have filed this month, and not one of your leads – not one! – has turned up so much as a shred of evidence that a Shrine of Talos exists in the Lake Ilinalta region. No prisoners. No documents. Nothing!_

 _Our forces are stretched thin enough as it is, and I have better missions – better agents – to assign them to. If you feel so sure of your informant, investigate this yourself. Come back with proof. Or not at all._

 _By my hand and seal,_

 _Elenwen.'_

"Damn, what do we do now?" I asked Faendal.

"What do you think _we_ do now? We bury the corpses of course, can't very well bring them into the village, then the Thalmor would really be on our behinds. Grab a spade and lets start digging. We'll say that they died in a bandit attack and that we buried them as they had been too far away from the village."

"And the spades?"

"The spades we borrowed from a passing merchant who felt pity on the poor souls. Now come on. The dead aren't just going to bury themselves!"

The rest of the day, we worked our backs off digging a hole wide enough for four bodies and then slowly lowering them into the ground. When at last we were done filling the holes back in, the sky was just beginning to set on the horizon and I had lost a kilogram of weight at the least. I was tired, hungry and filthy and all I wanted to do was to go to sleep on a nice, soft bed.

The only thing keeping me going was the banter, and some wine that Faendal shared with me as we worked. It could've been poisoned but after hours of work one stops caring about such trivialities because they are unreal. Afterall, if you die then the other guy would have to bury you all by himself which is a pain in the... which is not a very pleasant experience.

It turned out that he wasn't such a bad guy, once you got over his disdain for humanities inferior intelligence, easily countered by stating that it was Faendal that had been chasing after a female woman in the first place. He usually shut up and talked about other topics then. By nightfall we reached Riverwood and I was about to fall down and sleep on the earth when Faendal shook me out of my walking nap.

"Go tell the boss that we finished the job. See you tomorrow, Percy the Oaf-breaker."

"Sure, sure, Faendal the (hiccup) Green Vegetable. See your greenish (hiccup) highness tomorrow at the mill."

"Va fail," and with that Faendal stumbled off back to his house to lie down – what a lucky son-of-a-bitch.

I stumbled over to the biggest thatched house in all of Riverwood, knocking over only two buckets on the way there and gave two large big 'knocks'! The door was soon opened by Hod.

"Are you drunk Percy, you're stumblin' like you drank ten of Orgnar's finest."

"No... ju-just tired and (hiccup) have the hiccups. We (hiccup) found the people. Dead. A Thalmor (hiccup) guy killed them all by himself. We (hiccup) buried them and (hiccup) came back. That's it. Now can I (hiccup) sleep here for the night?"

"Of course Percy, the house is always open to you after what you did for us. The third bed on the right is yours."

"Thanks," I replied.

Hod looked around to see that his wife wasn't listenin' in, "Oh and Perce?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you met Camilla yet? Wouldn't mind gettin' my hands on those trunks. He, he, he, he."

"Very (hiccup) funny. Bugger off grandpa, Percy needs his (hiccup) sleep."

I navigated over towards an open bed and fell on it fully-clothed. We needed to have this as a training exercise at camp. It would be great (hiccup) practice.

Now just for Morpheus to take me to his realm of sleep and (hiccup)...


	6. Chapter VI

_**Chapter VI:** **The Golden Claw is worth how much?**_

The bane of the giant Polybotes had a drinking problem but unfortunately, I was not getting rid of it anytime soon because for some reason the world of Skyrim seemed to throw pipes at me like I'm a Mario Brother. Time to look into alternative sources of liquid.

I sipped on some home-made juice as I watched over Gerdur's and Hod's son playing tag with some of his friends. I had even played a bit before the headache became too painful and I had to call it quits. Apparently, drinking while digging graves gives one quite the hangover. At least now I am friendly with Faendal. Sven could stuff himself in a barrel and roll of a hill for all I care.

The bloody deuce had been singing horrible music across the yard now for over three bloody hours and I was seriously considering murdering the piece of cabbage, consequences be damned. His only saving grace was that I didn't have a weapon but I did have a meeting with the smith Alvor arranged by Hod in the afternoon where he would showcase some pieces so that I could get the right weapon custom-crafted. It likely wouldn't be on the same level as Anaklusmos but it would have to do for now.

In regards to my water powers, I wasn't bothered yet. The gods in the dream had stated the words, 'Dormant Powers' so they would probably return once I 'activate' them, whatever that means. Having a few hours to just sit and think really helped one's mental health.

After I got my weapon, I would then go and get some supplies and be off to Whiterun before the day was done. Maybe camp somewhere on the road and arrive during the morning. It all sounded perfect.

Too perfect.

That was why I was waiting for some big announcement to come up that would jar my world upside down. Suddenly, a rock collided with one of the legs of the stool and sent me crashing down. Talk about the world going ajar...

That damn Bard. He just intensified my headache. He was going to die. I sprung up and gave chase, weaving in and out of the main street as I followed the reindeer that was Sven. Finally backing him into a corner at the back of the Inn, I punched him square in the face. With an almost comic feel to it, Sven's head ducked as fast as lightning, leaving my fist to collide with the wall.

"Ha! A swiftness potion was all that I-"

He stopped chirping when my second fist collided with his face and took out a tooth, knocking Sven unconscious. Let him chirp with that, the bloody prick. I was usually a nice person but every person had a breaking point and Sven's three hour troll singing symphony followed by rock throwing and evasion could erode a person's humanity faster than a YouTube video ruining ones childhood forever with the subliminal sexual messages in Disney movies.

I left him twitching on the floor as I went to the main street, intent on entering the Sleeping Giant Inn and asking Orgnar for something strong and not for some god-forsaken pumpkin juice when Camilla sprang out of nowhere and spotted me.

"Oh there you are! Why haven't you paid me a visit? I asked around but I couldn't find you anywhere yesterday. I thought for sure that the wolves had gotten to you!"

Her high-pitched voice hit my ear-drums like a warhammer colliding with a watermelon.

I took her hand with my bleeding one, wincing from the pain, "Camilla, not so loud, please."

"Do you know how many people go missing in those forests?"

Considering I buried some of them – yeah, I know. "Camilla."

"By Mara, you're bleeding! Why didn't you tell me sooner? Come, we will get you a healing potion."

Her words left no room for argument as she pulled me along, some passer-byes waving in our direction. I did not even want to know what was going through their minds at the scene in front of them. Camilla finally dragged me past the smithy and into the Trade Shop proper.

Lucan Valerius just stood there looking like nothing unusual was happening as Camilla fished around for a red bottle with a mushroom coloured cork. Perhaps this was nothing unusual. Sven did say that Faendal used to swing by this place often so what if he and Camilla-

Camilla was saying something.

"Sorry, What?"

"I said, how did you get the wound?" she asked as she continued searching around.

"I was punching Sven in the face," I played it of as if I did this everyday.

Lucan perked up.

"Hmm, no, the other bottle I think. Why were you punching him in the face Percy?"

"He was being... annoying."

"Alright, here drink this," she handed me over the bottle.

She stared intently at me until I nearly finished drinking. I felt like I was in front of the judgement pavilion of the underworld.

"So where were you last night? Hopefully, not whoring out with some other girl I hope."

I nearly spewed out the potion. Lucan was trying – and failing – to look like he was counting coins and not aware of the conversation taking place. This was not the place for this conversation.

"No! I... I was out in the forest with Faendal!"

" _Really_? The same Faendal whose letter you brought me before yesterday? So tell me what were you doing with him in the woods, alone, at night? Hmm?"

I couldn't exactly tell her that I was digging graves for worshippers of a banned god so I did what every male protagonist did in the movies to shut the woman up. I kissed Camilla, hard. I put as much emotion as I could into the kiss and eventually I could feel Camilla giving in and kissing me back. Oh Hades, I forgot about Lucan! I quickly finished off and lifted her up so she could stand properly.

"Wow. That was... wow. I need to accuse you of being into other guys more often, you know that?"

"Whatever you want honey. Whatever you want," just don't ask me about my 'grave' duties.

"Well then," Lucan started out of nowhere, "When can I expect the marriage to occur?"

A car crashed. A rocket blew up on launch. The moon collided with Earth causing a massive explosion and the eradication of all life. Replace the earth with the brain and life with neurons and you would get a very accurate picture of my brain at that moment.

Before I could say anything or even stutter properly, Camilla replied, "Quite soon. In fact, me and Percy were just discussing this before we had entered. Weren't we, Perce?"

She gave me a wink.

"Uh... Yeah, yeah we were."

Sometimes I truly felt like a Seaweed brain. Go along with the flow, it's not as if my actions would help awaken two of the biggest threats to the gods one after the other. On the other hand, Bessie would have found a way to Thaila regardless so it wasn't really my fault. Typhon though... the less said about him, the better.

"Excellent, now that's been sorted out with, what downer have you been thinking about?"

What's a downer?

"Uh... I'm not sure. Haven't decided quite yet. What would you recommend?"

Camilla, who I forgot I still held in a hug with my left hand, gave me a warning look as if I had just said something very, very stupid.

"Well traditionally money is the preferred payment and Camilla is easily worth two-thousand septims for all the spare expenses that she may face in life; however, I will make you an offer. You may have noticed the relatively new bell. That is because recently a thief managed to get into my shop and made away with my most prized possession, that being a claw made of pure gold. It is located in Bleak Falls Barrow but due to running a business I am unable to traverse there myself. If you are to recover the claw, I will personally pay the thousand septim downer for you. Deal?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

We both laughed. I am not sure if Lucan was laughing with me or at me. Camilla seemed pissed though. Well that explains that. At least my hand felt better.

"Well brother, if you don't mind we need to leave," Camilla seethed.

"Of course sweet Camilla, of course," Lucas gave the most innocent of smiles.

Camilla once again dragged me, but this time outside of the back door and into the woods surrounding the village. We stopped in front of a particular massive oak, well out of sight of any denizen of the village.

"You shouldn't have done that. Percy don't you see that he doesn't care about you. He just cares about his stupid, stupid claw."

"Well for you-"

She interrupted me by smashing her lips against mine. Guess Camilla could learn some tricks from me.

After a heated make-out session, she continued, "He is offering a thousand septims – that's enough to buy a war horse. My brother is not going after the claw because he's running a business, but because bandits inhabit that area. Dangerous bandits that could kill you!"

She didn't want me to agree because she was scared for me. I felt oddly touched. Only Annabeth ever felt that way towards me, and only when I was jumping of the Golden Gate Arch or doing something equally as reckless. Camilla was scared for me when I had to face something as trivial as bandits and she was worried about me when I had the slightest injury. I felt my heart melt when she started crying.

"Don't cry. It's alright," I dragged my hand through her hair.

"No it's not! You'll go and get yourself killed and leave me all alone!"

"It's going to be fine. I promise."

She just hugged me tighter, "That's what my dad said before he went off to war. He never came back. They burned his body with the rest of the dead. I don't want to burn your body!"

"Shhh. Don't cry. It's all going to be just fine. I'll survive, you'll see."

"Against an entire camp of bandits?! Not likely-"

I gently kissed her. She still sobbed but thankfully she was regaining control. My own white tunic, a gift of Gerdur's, was wet with her tears.

"I'll survive and then we'll have a lot of mind-blowing 'escapes'. Alright?"

She broke out into mad laughter and then giggled, "What's stopping us from doing it now?"

I looked at her bewildered, "Here? Now?"

She giggled again, smiling with tears forgotten but tear trails left all the same, "Yes, stupid"

I grinned as well, "Alright, if you're sure?"

She gave me a suggestive wink, "Well I doubt the Oak will mind."

After a... rather intensive escaping session followed along with a walk through the woods and just sitting and talking about life in general, I left Camilla at the Traders as I went on to the blacksmith's where Hod already was inspecting Alvor's recent creations in other areas, such as the iron fittings in the roof overhead. As soon as I walked in, their attention zeroed in on me and before long, I was shaking Alvor's outstretched hand.

"Well, well. If it isn't the famous Percy of clan Jackson himself," Alvor said, stroking his ginger beard with another arm holding onto a hammer.

"Why yes it is. And you must be the infamous Alvor the Dwarven Master," I said.

"Why you honour me too much, I am only a lowly village smith!"

Wait, dwarves were a thing here too? He wasn't supposed to get that reference! But then there was gold and there were dragons...

"Nonsense," Hod stepped in, "Alvor is one of the best at what he does!"

Alvor puffed out his chest at the compliment.

"What do you have for us today Alvor?" asked Hod.

"Well masters, today I have a few beauties to show off and maybe we'll even take measurements for some armour!"

"Not necessary," I said.

"I'm sorry?" Alvor scrunched up his eyebrows.

"I don't fight with armour."

Alvor must've thought me mad because it looked like he was seriously reconsidering his life choices.

"Alvor let the boy decide. When he will get into his first scrap, he'll come runnin' straight for ya, I'm tellin' ya," Hod clapped Alvor on the shoulder and turned him towards the weapons capable of mass decapitation.

"Alright then. Weapons it is. Please step here," he held up his fingers before he went into the shack where he kept the models.

"How's Gerdur," I asked Hod while the smith was gone.

"Better. She still occasionally cries but thankfully she seems to be gettin' more calm. I think she's never felt more lonely. Thank you for givin' her flowers in the mornin'. Helped a lot."

"No problem. Gerdur needs to be taken care of afterall, the poor woman."

"Hmm. How are things with you and Camilla going?" Hod leaned against the table.

"In truth, I don't know. I like Camilla. I like her very much but... I don't know if I love her," I said.

"Hmm. Young love aye. Hard to judge in these cases, just do whatever you think is best but try not to lead her on too much in any case. Remember that there is no right and wrong and that you are lucky that you are not in a forced marriage! Aye, when comparin' to them then your choice is a lot better. At least you have a choice – not like those poor official sods in the Imperial City or even Solitude itself!"

Within a minute the smith Alvor returned back to us with several piles of weaponry not too badly crafted for a village smith but still nothing when compared to the calibre of my half-brother Tyson.

"This here is what I can make. Arming swords, shields, maces, clubs, longswords, spears, javelins, daggers, axes, great axes and warhammers, which are pretty good at bashing people's heads in," Alvor swung one to demonstrate, separating the straw head and bucket off the dummy with such force that they both landed in the river, "Pity. That was one fine straw-man. I will need to commission my apprentice to craft a new one tomorrow. If you would like a bow, you will have to purchase it from a hunter that has set up camp upstream near the Standing Stones."

Hod gave me a glance. I shook my head.

"Thank you Alvor. We'll think about doin' it later, after we have finished lookin' at your fine work, Master Smith," the compliment caused Alvor to beam.

Hod was a rather skilled talker. He could very well become a politician with that talk, maybe even better than Obama but that would remain to be seen. It's not as if I watched TV all that often anyways. Skyrim probably didn't even have proper politicians considering this universe looked to be set in the Middle ages.

"Alvor, say, would you be able to craft a sword in the shape of a leaf?" I asked.

Alvor stroked his beard. Hod just looked bewildered.

"I doubt it. I could try but it would likely be too fat in the middle and too thin on the edges with this smithy I got. But if you get to Whiterun, the greatest smith of Skyrim lives there and commands the mightiest forge of all the holds! Eorlund Gray-Mane is his name and you'll be able to find him around by asking anyone around there."

"Thank you Alvor. Could you make me an arming sword and a shield then? Common iron?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure could."

"Great, Hod will handle the purchase then."

"As you say, Master Percy. Will you be needing a spear? A popular weapon that."

"No thank you. I am planning to enter the tomb of Bleak Falls Barrow and a spear would just hinder me."

"Oh yes, you are right Master Percy! I have all but forgot about the wedding that Lucan mentioned when we talked today. I will give you the sword and shield as a wedding gift then. No septims required."

Hod mouthed at me, "What weddin'?" But I just ignored him.

"Thank you very much, Master Alvor. Your skills are said to be legendary!"

"Well I try."

"Goodnight, Master Alvor."

"Goodnight, Master Percy, Master Hod."

"Goodnight Alvor," scowled Hod as he hurried after my swiftly retreating form.

When we got home, the questioning began, "What weddin'?!"

"Lucan Valerius insists on a marriage between me and Camilla. Camilla isn't against it herself, in fact she supports it but she doesn't want me to get the stolen golden claw that Lucan convinced me to use as a downer for the marriage."

"Then say No!"

"I can't. I already said that we're thinking about it!"

Hod rubbed his face with his hands, "I leave you alone for one day and you knock up the most desired young face in Riverwood. I leave you alone for a second day and you are gettin' married. Talos guide me. I don't even know where to even begin with this nonsense!"

Gerdur walked into the room while mixing something in a bowl and she seemed puzzled, "Be softer Hod – Frodnar is asleep downstairs. And did I hear something about a wedding?"

"Yes woman, you heard right. Percy is plannin' on marrying Camilla bloody Valerius, sister to Lucan Valerius of all people!"

"Well I think that she is a lovely girl. Good choice Percy."

"Wha- Woman, you're supposed to be supportin' me? Percy is too young!"

"Well, age has never stopped anyone."

"Woman, he just arrived _three days_ ago. He only met this girl _two days_ ago. He is bein' asked to climb a _mountain_ into a _bandit layer_ to bring back a _golden claw_ for her. Do you understand now?"

Gerdur sighed heavily, "That is so romantic."

Hod slumped in his chair and massaged his shut eyes, "Everyone's gone mental."

Apparently 'mental' was the activation word that was needed for Gerdur's maternal instincts to go haywire because a banshee appeared in human form through her.

"What is mental is that you giant oaf don't understand that Percy had thrown off Camilla's largest proposers in less than a day and in that same day ended up in bed with her. What do you think her Imperial brother thinks! That she is 'broken' goods or some other such nonsense that is paraded around in the lands of Cyrodill and that Percy is the only real option. Furthermore, the marriage is just an agreement. They can divorce anytime that they wish! That's what you don't understand you giant oaf you! Now stop limiting love and go eat your dinner!"

"Yes dear," Hod didn't even bother arguing, he was a very wise man.

"Percy, please, ignore the oaf. Do what your heart desires. Life is short here in Skyrim and so enjoy it as best you can. Maybe give me some grandchildren eh?" she hit me jokingly with her elbow.

I nearly fainted for the second time of my life. Children... yeah, no way. No way in Hades.

"Relax, I'm not going to tease you like that giant oaf does-"

"Enough with the giant oaf!" Hod yelled across the house.

"If he awoke Frodnar, I swear that I will-" trailed off Gerdur as she left the room.

And that is how my new foster family, mostly Gerdur, gave me the green light to marry a relative stranger after four days of arriving in this dimension due to 'feelings' and because it was 'so romantic' even though I was just going along with the flow and not knowing the first thing of what I was doing. Sigh, why must life be so complicated?


	7. Chapter VII

_**Chapter VII: FUS**_

A few days in Skyrim and I am marrying a girl who's practically a stranger. Of course, we did spend a lot of time together in the past few days but still – it was crazy. I just don't know – I just don't know. So bloody confused...

I never imagined that I would marry before I even reached adult-hood. I never imagined that I would marry at all due to the blasted great prophecy – nevermind on a person that I knew for only a week. But apparently medieval Skyrim did not have a girlfriend/boyfriend system in place and everyone here was either your wife or your lover.

I was just going along with the flow. If anything happened and things go south, Gerdur had reassured me that divorce was anywhere, anytime. Things were a lot more simple here but still so weird. Culture shock was a real bitch.

For future reference, if a miracle occurred and I made it back home in one piece somehow and I needed to tell all of this to people worried sick about me – I said the girlfriend vows, not the marriage ones. Well I would right after I returned back that claw.

I shivered in the fur coat amidst the falling snow. My iron boots with goat hide linings kept the cold away from my feet and frostbite from taking over amongst my toes as I climbed the mountain that housed the infamous Bleak Falls Barrow, 'a bleak tomb of a bleak dragon lord' as Hilde had called it once at the Inn late one night.

The new iron sword sat comfortably in its plain scabbard and the wide, viking-esque shield of hard wood was slung over my shoulders. Though heavy, the shield would surely save my life from any incoming arrow fire. Gloves covered with iron gauntlets prevented frost from taking off the fingers this high on the mountain-top while the gambenson under the iron armour provided the warmth that the torso piece alone could not provide. A hardened leather helm sat on my head, it wouldn't protect against any serious cuts but it did give warmth and kept the hood from falling over and covering my face in cloth.

Up ahead, a stone tower loomed, likely filled to the brim with blood-thirsty bandits no doubt. Well that's what the villagers said anyways, though I doubted they came here frequently enough to even know if anyone inhabited it. Likely a bandit or two was all that I was going to find on my way to the top. Nobody else would stand living in this kind of weather.

I could see a flicker of warm flames up ahead, right next to the narrow bridge that connected the tower to the dirt road. Clever that, it made the whole thing much easier to defend.

Two Sentries were outside of the tower, playing some tarot card game on an overturned barrel. I approached them as silently as I could.

"Yeah, I win Farkin! Hand over the shiny coins!"

"No ways! You's cheating!"

They began to brawl over the barrel. The bandit Farkin took the head of the other bandit and went on to smash it in the barrel itself.

"What's the noise you two?!" a voice yelled out from one of the openings that was meant to resemble a window.

"Hold was cheatin'!"

"Uh, the idiots," mouthed the silhouette before the person moved back into the tower.

Hod was finally knocked unconscious and Farkin held a bag of septims in his hands, "Ah sweet loot! Huh?"

While the fight had been going on, I had stepped up right to the lookouts themselves. I immediately backhanded Farkin to the ground and then kicked him with my iron tipped boots in the sacred place where even Apollo doesn't shine. The watchman was out cold and the money would be quite useful.

I moved on in the shadows past the stone tower and onwards to the Barrow. I could clean out the tower but then I'd have to kill humans and that... wasn't the best thing to do. Their faces would haunt me for the rest of my days, maybe even indirectly causing me to die in the worst possible way as a lot of Greek Myths seemed to indicate. And considering Greek Myths were real...

I continued on my climb across the narrow roads and short ledges. Even the wolves did not prowl here due to the scarcity of their prey. At long last, I could see the dark Nordic spirals and blocks adorned with idols. They stood tall and proud, covered in autumn's snow but still majestic nonetheless.

I could see why marauders would flock to a place like this. A tomb so lavish would definitely contain vast, abundant wealth ripe for the pickings of any who would stumble upon it. Gems, coins and precious artefacts would be undoubtedly awaiting the avid adventurer wanting to make a fortune. Of course, such a tomb would also be well protected. I would have to keep my eyes peeled lest I get ambushed or worse.

A tent was pitched just outside the tomb itself, a roaring fire blazing amidst the ashen firewood. Men crowded around the flames like it was a relic of religious significance, to protect their body parts from the hale happening at the mountain-top. Frost clung to my jaw and snow riddled my sight with a force of a mongol horde descending upon the steppes. If I stayed out in the open any longer, I would freeze into an icicle of oceanic flavour and be eternally remembered in history as the 'icicle man' which in retrospect wasn't that bad a way to go. Anything beat being scorched by Zeus' masterbolt.

I approached the group of bandits. They had a fire and I was cold so why not? It's not as if they would just kill me.

"Halt! Who goes there?!" a man wearing a cow's skull jumped from behind a pillar and pointed a corroded bronze spear at me.

Maybe I had spoken too soon.

"It's me!" I yelled.

"Who's me?"

"You are me!"

"I am you?"

"Yes"

The cow-skulled man with the big nose scratched his head.

"Alright me, you, whoever you are. Watcha doing here?"

"Seeking treasures of the ancient Nords!"

A bandit wouldn't kill a fellow bandit. Hopefully.

"Ay, who says we gonnas give it to ya?"

"Well there is probably no treasure anyways," I said.

"Ha! There are room fulls of treasures left. But they're guarded by a wall of stone. And we need some kind of golden claw to open it!"

Alarm bells rung in my ears.

"A golden claw?"

"Ay and it's the key to the inside door!"

If the bandits didn't have the claw, then who did?

"Well if you don't mind, can I enter the tomb if there is no golden claw?"

"Watcha be carrying then? Tomir, search him"

The fat bull-dog Tomir, clothed in hide armour, had quietly arrived from another pillar and searched me for some distinct claws but could not find something that wasn't there. He wasn't the American police afterall.

"Nothing? Well then sure pass, knock yourself over," we came towards the flames and the freezing group of bandits, "Beware that there are many dangers and traps that are still active down below. If you die we'll take your gear and give you a burial. If it's the Draugr – would be nice if there was anything left to bury! Ha!"

Tomir seemed to also find it funny and cracked up in a full belly laugh. I chuckled as well – if only to diffuse the tension.

"Draugr?"

"Never heard of the Draugrs boy? Walking skeletons that tumble about and hate the living?" the others around the fire laughed.

The skeleton warriors of Hyperion came to mind.

"No. I'm a traveller from far-off lands."

"So watcha doing here then?"

I scratched my head.

"I'm marrying a local girl in a nearby village and don't have the money for a downer."

"Ha! A love-stuck boy searching for treasure. This story me like. Get going then, your bride wouldn't want to wait this long in weather such as this. Would be a shame if she had to find herself a new husband now is it?" the men cheered and wolf whistled.

"Then I'll go then."

The cow-skulled, big nosed bandit yelled after me, "Tell the men inside that you're one of us and that I sent you. They'll let you inside. After that your on your own and no Yorug of Falkreath will save you or your pretty ass!"

Cue more laughter. I nodded and entered through the dragon adorned gates of the ancient crypt, never looking back.

The first chamber was huge, ten times the size of my families apartment in Manhattan, held up by overarching arches and a giant, moss-covered stone pillar at its centre. The only source of light were the various holes around the chamber and another fire just behind the pillar, out of sight. I took off the hood now that my ears could function again and not turn to icicles at the same time. Hurried whispers echoed from the fire place.

"So we're just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?"

These bandits knew of the golden claw and hid the knowledge from the group at large. They must've been the ones that had stolen it in the first place. This was not going to end well.

"That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risking our necks."

Well at least the golden claw was here and I wouldn't need to go to another dungeon to find it. For some reason, that statement was more reassuring that it should have been. I had been playing too much Mario aboard the Argo II. I needed to listen to Annabeth more and actually read a book for once. Yeah, read a book... what happened to the Percy that threw textbooks across the dorm just before an exam?

"What if Arvel doesn't come back, Harknir? I want my share from that claw!"

"Just shut it and keep an eye out for trouble."

"But-"

Crunch! I stilled and looked down at the broken piece of pottery beneath my feet.

"Shut up Bjorn! Someone's coming!"

The two bandits sprung from behind the pillar.

"Intruder! He's heard too much. Kill him!" yelled the bare-chested, mace and shield combo fighter.

The other guy meanwhile stumbled for his bow and arrows.

The berserker descended on me like a wild boar, swinging his mace left and right in rage-filled fury. I tried not to hurt him.

"I'm with you! Yorug of Falkreath sent me!"

The berserker just started hitting harder and faster. I timed a block and threw of his mace and slashed with my sword at his chest drawing red blood.

"Ragh!" a whirlwind of blows descended down on me once more.

Tiny cuts started to appear as I continued dodging and blocking at every turn, trying to tire out the beast.

I was losing. The man was an animal, hitting repeatedly again and again without tire. My shield was a wreck. Soon I would need to fight with sword alone. I would not-

Twing! The bare-chested berserker dropped down dead, an arrow piercing his spine cleanly in two. The archer's face contorted in shock.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

I quickly closed the distance, avoiding the dagger pointing at my chest and hit his helm twice with the pommel of my iron sword, knocking him out unconscious. I needed to find the claw before the bandits outside investigated the noise. To this end I didn't even approach several of the chests lining the wall and hurried down the empty tunnels filled with moss and ruin.

Gnarled roots entwined with each other, covering the floor and making it nigh impossible to traverse without tripping over oneself. Giant, dead rats were skewed all over the floor with the occasional half-eaten piece of rotting human flesh resting in their jaws – a testament to the bandit raids that must have occurred as they were searching for treasure. I followed along the faintly lit path down below into the mountains, silently cursing Faendal for being too chicken to come with me on this journey. So what if I messed up with the letter? This was a matter of life or death. Lazy, no good for, irrational bosmer.

A cave-in up ahead blocked off the corridor and I went around to the path next to it before crouching down and hiding myself in the thick roots of strangely absent plants or more likely absent trees due to the sheer size. There was a bandit up ahead. Was this Arvel?

The bandit walked up to a handle standing opposite of a portcullis. What a medieval castle protection mechanism was doing in a Nordic tomb hundreds of years old was anyone's guess.

The bandit attempted to pull the handle but instead of the grille rising open, a plethora of darts whizzed in all directions, repeatedly stabbing the bandit into a bloody soup of death. If this was Arvel, then I was getting the claw and getting the hell out of here. When the array of darts stopped destroying everything in sight, I carefully walked up the dead man and examined his body. No claw. This wasn't Arvel but probably someone from the original group heading to find him. A pity he had to meet a horrific death.

Pulling the Nord to the side, I looked around for some way to open the gate without getting sharp needles up my buttocks.

Three turning totems stood to my left, with some more located in the mouths of heads above the gate itself. Maybe I just needed to match them? I grabbed ahold of the heavy stones and began turning them to fit with the ones located above. The left one was a Snake while the right one was what seemed to be a Whale. The middle face was missing from the equation. I went back to the handle and dusted through the rouble spewed on the ground before my fingers curved around the figure of an animal beneath the two holes that were meant to represent the eyes. It was an eagle.

I aligned the last stone and took a breath before pulling the leaver with my shield held overhead. Darts flew out like a tsunami and only my skilled reflexes saved me from being pulverized.

"Aargh!"

One had found its way into my ankle. I reflexively reached for it with my right hand only to jerk back when another grazed past my skin drawing blood and yet another found its mark in the palm of my sword-hand, forcing me to drop the weapon and hide under the pelted shield.

The rainstorm stopped and I slid down to my knees and contracted my eyes. It hurt, it hurt like switching on an oven to a full flame and putting a hand right on top of the metal disk. I fidgeted around. I needed to get the one in my ankle out but I couldn't, I just couldn't. The dart to the palm had gone straight through barely missing the bone. Blood gushed out with crazy fervour. My breath grew short and tethered. My movements sluggish. My chest was covered with Greek Fire. My heart was over-filled, blood seeping from the valves, ready to burst.

With impossible strength I reached for the now very familiar maroon bottle and gulped down its contents. Bones began to re-knit, blood vessels healed and the blood flow stopped. The bolt was forced out and it rolled down lazily on the badly dented floor. The world was swimming. I needed to rest. I needed to-

No. I needed to stand up and continue if I didn't want to end up like the bandit who's corpse was strewn all over the floor.

I shakily stood up and downed another bottle of health and one of stamina to ensure that I didn't just fall down dead to the ground due to some poisoning or something. The stamina filled me with energy and helped me move the heavily-traumatised thing that was my body.

This time I completely unearthed the buried totem. A Snake. All of that pain for a moment of inattention and I was lucky. The Nord had paid with his life.

I moved the middle totem so that the Snake faced me and pulled on the handle once more. The gate opened like it was oiled just the day before. Magic was the likeliest culprit in all of these mysteries relating to candles burning for gods knows how long and places of ancestry being preserved in such good condition. If magic could repair bone marrow in seconds, then it could damn well keep a piece of metal from rusting for who knows how long.

I pulled myself across the gate into a cramped, little room with a wooden stairway descending to a path down below. The only thing of note was a slab table that looked as if it belonged in a museum and a reinforced copper chest. I picked up a health potion from the table and stored some old book in my bag before checking over the chest – locked. I didn't have time for this.

I turned around a small pillar only to come face to face with a giant, jumping rat. I threw up my shield as the creature collided with it with enough force to stumble me. It grasped at the top with its claws, trying to climb over it. I bashed the shield against the wall and the creature dropped with a 'thump' and scrambled off to only gods knows where. In Skyrim, everything wanted to kill you.

I descended down the staircase, throwing two more rats down the stairs, their fragile bodies breaking on impact from a three story drop.

The first thing I noticed when I came onto levelled land once more, was the webs. Giant layers of cobwebs hung at the sides and off in the distance it seemed was another freaking spider layer.

As I moved around, I started to notice a voice calling out from somewhere: "Is... is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling? I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help!"

I kept my mouth shut, remembering Regan's death, but hurried to where the voice was yelling from. It seemed Arvel was still alive.

I rounded the corner into a small room that more closely resembled a spider layer than any human construct that was underneath the webs and there was Arvel himself, a dark elf stuck inside of spider webs at the next doorway. Perhaps hearing my footsteps, a giant spider descended from the ceiling and looked at me with its tiny, budging eyes that resembled black holes. This spider was smart, it caught me right in its trap like I was a delicious, little fly.

"Get it away from me. Get it away!"

I charged. The glob of spit sizzled my already damaged shield into a carcass of corroded wood which I coiled back and threw at the spider's general vicinity. The shield stuck the spiders mouth and it reared back on its four legs in agony. Taking the opportunity, I cut off two of its legs with a giant sweep of the sword.

The spider jumped at me. It was too fast to dodge and so I braced myself with sword outstretched and feet one in front of the other. As soon as it was right on top of me, I leaped to the ground. My arms hoisted the sword and swung downwards right through the middle of its lithe body as I escaped unscathed. The spider never moved again.

"You. Over here!"

I wiped the sweat of my forehead as I looked over Arvel hanging in the webs, obviously being kept for a later meal.

"You did it. You killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up."

"Where's the golden claw?" I asked.

"Yes, the claw. I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together! Help me down, and I'll show you. You won't believe the power the Nords have hidden here!"

If Arvel hadn't been a dark elf, I swear that his face would border a resemblance to that of Hitler.

"I don't care about the power. I just want the claw," I said.

"Alright. Its yours! Just cut me down."

I sighed and began the tedious process of cutting down the web's off of the elf. I took a swing at a corner.

"It's coming loose I can feel it."

Apparently with elves time is subjective because it took five whole minutes of cutting and slicing for the bandit to actually be finally free.

"The golden claw. Now."

Arvel looked behind himself, and before I could blink my eyes, he was gone; speeding along the chambers of Bleak Falls Barrow. I gave chase. No way was he running away with my golden claw.

"You fool, why should I share the treasure with anyone?"

We ran through two chambers before entering what seemed to be a dimly lit catacomb where you couldn't see your own two feet. Arvel began to sprint, sprinting as if he was Usain Bolt himself, right into a wall of spikes.

I came to a halt as Arvel's bloodied corpse was thrown across the catacomb back from where we had just come from, well all expect for his head that had rolled over to the side, one of his eyes gone and the other pierced and oozing the white liquid that made up the eyeball. I turned back to his corpse and noticed a second shadow next to it. Tracing up its edges, I met the blue eyes of an armoured skeleton.

What the bandits had said was true. Draugr's roamed this place. Winter had come.

It started slowly walking towards me. I waited for it to sprint at me like all of those zombies did in movies. Then I realised that the Draugr wasn't moving slowly, getting ready to run – it was going at full speed.

Could the dead even run?

I calmly walked up to it, taking big strides, and took of it's head before it had even raised its weapon. Well... that had been easy.

Two more undead stood from their resting places; one with an axe and shield, the other with a giant battle axe. I quickly dispatched the one with the shield by also just walking up to him and lopping off the head but I was wary of the one with the giant battle axe. That thing had reach.

I circled around the Draugr, it vainly attempting to keep up with me, and waited for my moment to strike at the first sign of weakness.

As I passed a column, I stopped a hairs-width away from the battle axe's attempt to slice my head clean off. Guess even though zombies were slow, they were not dumb.

I stepped up to the Draugr and cut off its arms before picking up the battle axe and ending the creature with a heavy blow of its own weapon. They were certainly not smart by any means either.

I picked up the golden claw off of Arvel's body and went on, making sure to avoid the painted stone that seemed to trigger the spiked wall to extend and swing, killing off any unlucky intruder in the dim light.

I should've probably turned back at this point but all this talk of secret treasures intrigued me. Surly a peek wouldn't hurt. Add to that, that I was dirt poor and the bandits would have most likely already discovered the dead bodies in the first room and I had every motivator I needed to continue.

What's life without a bit of adventure?

I entered further in and disposed of another three Draugr's with only a female Draugr adding any differentiation to the previous fight. Which raised the question if female Draugr could give birth? I physically shuddered.

The only path to continue on ahead was past an array of swinging blades. One wrong move and – chop, chop, chop; Percy lying in pieces ready for consumption by all giant rats within the nearest mile. With dexterity and months of training at the lava wall, I jumped and weaved through the the gaps and got to the end. A chain to the left would stop the giant blades from moving but I decided not to pull it. If there were pursuers, they would surly not fare as well as I did right now.

Moving on, I crept down the descending path until I arrived at another intersection with the Draugr. This time it was different because this time there was oil on the ground and fire-pots on strings. As soon as the Draugr started 'chasing' me, it was over. I slashed at the strings of one of the fire-pots and ran like Hermes on steroids as fire engulfed the oil and everything in its vicinity, frying up the Draugr into some neat undead barbecue, now available in three distinct tastes. Be the first to order your undead barbecue today.

After the blaze had subsided, I moved on past the newly dead undead, collecting their axes and then going on into a chamber that had a vivid waterfall sprawling down one of its walls as well as containing one of the least imaginative enemies imaginable – another Draugr. Had I still had my powers, I would've just swept it away if not for 'Dormancy'. I had been through enough prophecies to know that eventually I would get them back at the 'right' time and would just have to make do for now without them. Instead I used the axes that I had earlier collected and played 'Axe throwing simulator 2010, Draugr edition'. I missed both shots. Even here my archery sucked.

I engulfed the chest of the Draugr with the blade and then split its throat. It fell to the ground with a crunch. If these Draugr weren't so inhumane, I would have started getting emotional and considered whether I was human or not and if my morals were correctly inclined for all of this genocide that I was causing.

But the Draugr were dead and what was dead may never die. Period.

Eventually, after toiling for a bit, I spotted a gate on the small stream. Opening it up and hopping on down its watery paths, I went on down the murky waters to a dirt path where the streaming rapids of the creek ran along its edge, the roof once more supported only by pillars of slowly eroding hard rock covered with glowing fungus. I followed down the rapids to the hole in the canvas where the rapids turned into a waterfall. It was beautiful. And there was also a troll on the bridge below. Yikes!

Were trolls wise in Skyrim? Were these the same trolls from the 'three goats cross a bridge' story?

The snow-coloured troll gave a mighty roar as it seemed to smell me and hobbled over to a branching path that would bring it from the bridge where it was hobbling, to my place by the rapids. That answered that question.

I wasn't about to fight a fully-grown, bloodthirsty troll if I could help it. As soon as it was out of sight, I just used the wide ledges in the wall on the left to easily climb down the waterfall and onto the bridge below to continue along my path undisturbed, completely circumventing the threat. The snow troll could fight somebody else instead.

I trudged along the earthen path interceded with rocks jutting out where it pleased them, before swirling off on a corner into a high domed chamber deep beneath the ground with dragon statues prodding from the wall ahead.

A single Draugr stood before the iron-fitted double-doors. It restlessly walked back and forth, longsword in hand and outfitted in corroded steel armour. It wouldn't be restless for much longer.

"Hey ugly!"

The Draugr stopped and looked at me with its unblinking eyes of sapphire.

"Yes you!"

It ran at me at human speeds. Guess this was why it was guarding a much more important looking door than the others. I parried the first strike only to find myself thrown back by a kick in the stomach. Unlike Nico, this dead-boy fought dirty.

I jumped up and deflected a blow to the neck in the nick of time before striking at the chest only to be stopped by the Draugr's parry. We traded blows, the Draugr pressing on ever gently. I jumped atop of a broken down column and did a Jackie Chan twist, kicking the Draugr in the jaw. It managed to roll away before I could strike it down on the ground.

We circled each other. I did so wearily, looking for any openings. The Draugr was just waiting for me to attack so that it would run me through with its longsword. Without a shield, I was at a severe disadvantage.

I then did a thing of genius (or insanity). I took off my iron boot and threw it straight at the Draugr's face to end it rightly. It dodged it – which was planned, but this allowed me to strike it with my sword – which was definitely not something the Draugr foresaw.

It stared at me with unblinking eyes as if to say, 'Did you just throw a _boot_ at me?!' before its eyes faded into darkness as I had pulled out my blade and pierced the restless Draugr's temple.

After putting on back my iron boot, I opened ajar the double-doors and went on inside this Sanctum of Bleak Falls Barrow.

The Sanctum was rather quiet expect for the whooshing sounds of blades going side to side. Just how uncreative were the ancient Nords? Very was the answer. Dodging through the blades revealed another three regular Draugr that I needed to face. I didn't play with theatrics this time around. I chopped off the leg of the first undead and then sliced him through the chest, picked up its shield and threw it at a fire-pot. The fire-pot crashed onto the head of one of the Draugr, burning it in the holy rays of light that were fire-pots. Then I sprinted around and impaled the archer that had been trying to pick me off all the while. I was getting quite proficient at dealing with these Draugr.

I climbed atop the wooden stairs to the platforms and proceeded to cross a bridge spanning above the chamber from which I entered. Passing by avian statues crafted from rough obsidian, I found another double-doored iron-fitted door that revealed a long corridor with a stone wall at its end. Crap, surely this wasn't a dead-end?

Further inspection revealed this to not be the case. Artistic carvings lined the walls, all leading to what I had first assumed to be a wall but was actually a sealed doorway leading further into the Barrow. A claw was imprinted into the stone, moving stones with various animals depicted above clung around it in a circular formation. It was a giant zip-code with the claw as the key mechanism.

I opened my bag and retrieved the golden claw. Turning the golden claw around, I noticed images of animals in an order reminiscent to that on the door. I moved around the sliding stones to fit the pattern of Bear, Moth and Owl. When I was done, I wondered what to do before it hit me like a centaur's arrow.

If this was a key mechanism, then I needed to use the claw as the key! I moved the claw to line up to the holes above the imprinted claw, put it in, and twisted the claw to the side. The lock sprung back and the sliding stones began moving, forming up the Owl from top to bottom. If only Annabeth could see me succeed now. She would probably yell at me for agreeing to doing this in the first place and then yell at me again for being a, 'Seaweed Brain'.

The wall opened up, sliding down into the ground to allow me entry into the Sanctum inside. This was it. I had finally gotten to... a set of stairs.

Ascending the perilous path, I entered what must have been the biggest chamber in the entire complex. Stone pillars had to be used in the dozens to uphold the roof to the place beyond.

As I entered, a group of bats swarmed past me – blinding me. I was now officially Batman.

I crossed an ageing bridge over the stream stewed out by a group of waterfalls with even more bats clouding my vision before they finally stopped deciding to swarm me. A massive structure stood ahead, the head of a giant, avian-like creature carved into some kind of curved wall. As I approached and stepped onto a platform level to the wall, I started to hear soft shouts. I jumped and readied my weapon but I could not see anything out to kill me. The closer to the wall I got, the louder did the shouts become. When I got within a foot off the wall, a flashing light filled my eyes and a chilling wind swept through my very being. The word that had been blazing blue became stuck – an imprint in my brain. I just... knew it. It was Force. I knew Force. The shouting diminished. I was now a master of the Force! There were other scribbles on the wall too. No, not scribbles – but words.

 _'Here lies the guardian_

 _Keeper of dragonstone_

 _And a **force** of unending_

 _Rage and darkness'_

I could hear stone crumbling. I turned around. A heavy-duty looking Draugr was pulling itself out of the previously closed sarcophagus, a pulsing sword and shield in hand. This was the time to fight. 'Trust the Force, Percy'.

"FUS!" I shouted.

The Draugr stumbled for a second and then regained its bearing.

Well if copying Ulfric didn't work, then onto plan B – fight.

The Guardian opened its rotten teeth covered in morsel shells, "FUS! RO! DAH!"

I barely dodged to the side as the shout crumpled off a bit of the word wall. Dead people could shout?

Okay, Plan C – run!

I sprinted off around, circling the Draugr as it tried to shout me down.

"FUS! RO! DAH!" A huge stone was thrown across the chamber.

"FUS! RO! DAH!" An ancient tree was uprooted.

"FUS! RO! DAH!" The grass behind me began flying away in the wind, completely uprooted by the shout.

I was now flanking the Draugr.

"FUS! RO! DAH!" I dodged to the side.

"FUS! RO! DAH!" I briefly hid under the sarcophagus.

"FUS! R-" the Guardian stopped as its mouth tasted metal for the first time in what must have been hundreds of years.

I slid out the blade and cut the thing into three parts, just so that it wouldn't "FUS! RO! DAH!" me in the back while I was leaving.

It was a miracle that my sword had managed to make it so far without breaking. The top was completely destroyed due to spider venom that had also been corrupting the rest of the blade since the spider's chamber, allowing for pesky Draugrs to be dispatched with much greater ease. I rested the blade in the newly-opened sarcophagus and took the Guardian's sword and shield as my own. They would be useful to have in future battles.

Among other trinkets, I took along with me some scribbled, important looking stone and some gems that I had found in a nearby chest that would be worth quite a bit of coin. Everything tucked in, I was ready to go and climbed the rest of the steps next to a breathtaking waterfall to a second entrance to this Barrow because evidently, I was not going to be coming out of the first one anytime soon.

At the end of the steps was a short earthen corridor with a raised dais that held a lever. Pulling it open, I descended into yet another earthen corridor. The temperature here dropped. The corridor led straight outside. I covered my head with the previously discarded hood and finally left Bleak Falls Barrow, a Draugr and bandit-infested death trap, to the world outside, claw in bag.


	8. Chapter VIII

_**Easter Egg:** Percy is seventeen because he was transported on his birthday – and it is actually canon (!) because Skyrim starts on the 18th of August (18th of Last Seed)._

 _ **Chapter VIII: A Date with a Jarl**_

I lay in the darkness, restless after waking up in the middle of the night, with the moon having long ascended over the White River that ran through the village. Orgnar had said that I couldn't rent out a room while the innkeeper was out but Orgnar didn't sleep in the tavern. As soon as he was gone, I and Camilla had sneaked in through the windows and had the whole place to ourselves.

I looked over her tufts of hair gleaming in the breath-taking moonlight. It had taken the rest of the day to trek down the mountain and get back to Riverwood, a local hag helpfully helping out with directions in the forest. She was a sweet lady, old with white hair and wrinkles innumerable, scratch that – she was ancient. How she survived the madness that was Skyrim for so long was beyond me especially out there, alone in the wilderness.

Even now, tossing in bed, I was expecting to jump out at any moment due to a dragon attack or a godly vision or a crab invasion of the fisheries. Yes, those happened weekly, ever since a particular large mudcrab decided that it did not want to become the chow food of some peasant and escaped into the wilds near the river bed. Ever since then, it has been launching invasions on Riverwood's fisheries with its vast legions of crab fighters and mercenaries.

The local Nords thought it was cute and some even jokingly worshipped it as the crab god – providing them with huge quantities of crab meat weekly. I was just glad that the crabs hadn't decided to have a revolution and stage their own thirteen tribes of the crab confederation. Dad had a bad headache for an entire week because of that. Once was enough, thank you very much.

I looked at Camilla again. I had given the claw to Lucan and the merchant had arranged a village-wide feast where our marriage was announced. Alvor had made the most toasts and challenged Orgnar to a drinking game, both getting themselves drunk under the table, the biggest highlight of the evening and why I wasn't worried about Orgnar getting up tomorrow anytime soon.

With some trepidation, I remembered Ulfric Stormcloak's request. I would need to head to Whiterun soon, the Jarl would need to be warned of the dragon threat. Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow would be the day when I would set out, I couldn't wait any longer.

The shadows were dancing with people passing by the tavern among the pale orange light. Why were people passing by the tavern in the middle of night? Orange light? Was that a 'clang'?

I hurriedly started dressing. The first screams sounded.

"Huh?" Camilla said turning around to me, wiping her eyes in the darkness.

There was no time to put on armour. I grabbed the Guardian's sword and shield and hurried to the door.

"What's going on?"

"Stay inside!" I yelled as I kicked the locked door.

After three kicks, the locking mechanism broke and I hurried outside. One of the houses was in flames. The bandits were attacking in the dead of the night and Yorug of Falkreath was leading them. Bodies of guards and bandits lay crumpled on the stone and dirt. It was carnage all around, at least forty men locked in battles of blood and determination.

I didn't think. I just acted on my instincts and dove into battle.

I knocked out a tattooed bandit on my right and then kicked the gut of a bald faced savage with wasted teeth so hard that he ended up harking bile in the middle of battle. I raised my shield and deflected a blow from an axe that nearly hit my collar bone. Turning the shield, I deftly thrust with the Draugr blade underneath. The young, beaded man was quick on the draw, raising his shield just in time for my sword to collide with hard wood when frost seeped out of the blade and started to encompass the opponents shield in ice. The guy in panic, ditched his rawhide shield and scampered off behind his comrades. If only I had my water powers I could have ended this entire thing in mere seconds.

The next men I battled were wearier, dodging often and attacking at the same time. Then finally I used Luke's manoeuvre to strike at the hilt and get the viking-horned bandit to drop his double-edged axe before I bashed my shield in his face, scoring a knock-out. The other bandit got occupied with a guard that had just arrived at my side. Many villagers that could've participated in the battle were notably absent – probably due to the high alcohol intake of the average Nord considering the powerful stuff they drank. Only Alvor could be spotted in the battle, wearing good steel armour and bashing enemies with a giant warhammer. I was never more thankful of having him on my side.

Someone screamed, it sounded familiar. Yorug of Falkreath had broken away from the group with two others and they had just entered the tavern. I saw red.

I blindly rushed back into the building, narrowly stopping a club bash to my shoulder with my shield. I quickly kicked out the bandits left knee joint and sucker punched him in the face. Two to go.

"No! Please, No!"

Yorug of Falkreath had just grabbed Camilla by her braid. I swiftly bashed the second bandit from behind.

One more to go.

Yorug had heard the commotion and he turned around, his beady eyes finding me easily enough through that cow skull of his.

"You? Ah! So this must be the local girl?" he raised his axe to her throat.

I approached.

"I wouldn't do that if I were-"

He never finished the sentence. He never started another one either. I sheathed my Guardian sword deep inside of Yorug's chest. His body fell onto the wooden plank floor, his crimson blood weeping through tiny cracks to connect with mother Gaea.

Camilla fiercely hugged me, crying all over my tunic. I rubbed her back as I looked at Yorug's wide-open eyes. I didn't sleep the entire night.

Now, more than ever, Riverwood needed reinforcements. Seven guards had perished under the pale moon, sixteen bandits joining them in the afterlife. The rest were taken prisoner, now residing in the jail of Riverwood, built exactly for situations such as these but even then it was over-filled. I had kissed Camilla goodbye and said my farewells with Gerdur and Hod, promising that I would be home soon. Lucan proved to be amenable to give me some vital supplies as well as a tent and the tools necessary to start a fire for the journey ahead.

And Alvor... Alvor suffered a wound, as remarkable as that sounded considering that he had been closer to iron man than human last night. He had damaged the sole of his boot in battle and managed to step on a barbed plant in such a way that a spike entered and did not leave after an hour or so after the battle ended when his apprentice noticed the injury while removing Alvor's armour. The whole foot was red and swollen. A more ridiculous battle injury I have never heard of and the only way this could've gone any worse is if Alvor then slipped and fell on a sword – Ajax the Greater style.

The next day, late in the afternoon I finally set off. I had everything I needed and had helped in the jail and with the burnt house as best I could. Now it was onto a new adventure. A new start.

The empty holes in Yorug's cow skull watched me leave, stuck unmoving on a spike just off the wooden wall. I knew that more would join it before my journey was over and it had just begun.

Generally when I was awoken in the middle of the night and in the middle of nowhere by a dark skinned alien with a wolf's pelt serving as a cloak, wielding a dagger and having blood-red eyes, I...

"It's too early in the morning," I complained before rolling over away from my guest and pretending to go to sleep.

Child-like, I know. But it was too early in the morning to deal with this. I am a growing boy, I need my sleep.

"Psst... Psst... wake up. Wolves. Hungry wolves. Right outside"

"Go away," I gestured outside, while I got comfier in the cosy blankets.

"To the wolves? Are you mad?!" the unnamed individual asked incredulously, as if he couldn't believe that someone could achieve this level of stupidity.

I snuggled in, "Five more minutes"

Sweat started forming on my brows. I frowned. It was getting hot in here. I opened my eyes with some effort. Great, the alien was setting my tent on fire. Never knew that magical's would burn mere muggles alive in their own homes. What a cunt.

"Oi, fine, alright, just stop. But you are sleeping on the floor," I said as I stumbled out of the tent, sword in hand.

Giving a big, wide-open yawn, I heard more than saw the three angry canines stalking around the camp with another one off to the side, tensed up to spring. It barred its vicious teeth as it prepared to take a delicious bite of human flesh. It spread its paws, sprang right at me and prepared to land right on top, its jaws angling towards my neck.

Bright, red blood flowed down onto the hard ground. A corpse following right along. A slab of ancient nordic material speared through its brain.

The remaining pack reared at the fall of their comrade. Vicious spikes, that people call teeth, were shown to the killer of one of their pack. One of them howled in distraction while without warning, another of the circling members leaping at my back while another one jumped the front.

Two more corpses joined the first one on the ground. Freezing frost slowly spread among them, preserving their bodies for a future meal or two. Bleak falls barrow had been so worth it for the sword alone.

The remaining wolf whimpered before scrambling off into the dense foliage and the occasional tree of the mountain pass, the warm current passing by the only reason why the place wasn't at temperatures below the deep freezer.

The alien – elf, whatever – from before stood at the entrance of the tent with his mouth agape. Truly, that had been nothing. A wolf had absolutely nothing on a hell hound... and I killed hell hounds in my sleep, once even literally (a story involving a drink, a prank from the Strolls gone wrong, sleep walking in the forest and mostly pure luck). Yeah hell hounds were a walk in the park, expect for Mrs. O'Leary and that was because she was the sweetest hell hound that there ever was.

"Go to sleep," I muttered sleepily in his general direction as I entered the slightly crisp tent that stunk of ozone to such a degree that it reminded one of Thaila and her dick of a father, Zeus.

I lay down and tucked myself into the fluffy blankets and went back to a cosy and undisturbed state of hibernation.

The next morning I awoke well-rested. During the night, it seemed as though a strong breeze had decided to pick up in the area as hundreds of leaves had pelted the cloth, resulting in a sort of natural camouflage. All sorts of twigs and twisted grass blades littered the area making it a lot harder to navigate without making a sound. It was like Artemis had blessed the area overnight to provide me with the most cover during my sleep but of course Artemis wasn't here. If Zeus and the Big Three couldn't get here then how could she?

The dark elf from yesterday was cooking breakfast under an open flame. A skinned wolf chopped into edible bits gently rolling over the warm embers, created with magical fire no doubt.

"Hey," I said.

"Do they not teach etiquette from where you are from? Usually a person says good morning in the morning."

"Well it is an unusual morning," I shrugged.

"It is only unusual because you make it so. Don't expect me to start calling you sire anytime soon," the dark elf replied just as he twisted one of the legs over the embers.

"Alright."

What a weird elf. My mind worked over-time for a conversation starter, or as hard as it could while the stomach lay empty. I still did not know how the elf had got here considering his fire-wielding capabilities.

"So how does a mage get chased by wolves right to my front porch? I thought you could control fire or what-not?" I took a seat on the ground next to the cooking wolf.

The dark elf snorted with his lips pulling behind his teeth. He seemed... amused?

"I wasn't running from the wolves, Nord."

"I am not a Nord."

"Hmm? Well then an Imperial. Bretons tend to be of smaller stature."

"Don't change the subject. What were you running from if not the wolves? The guards?"

Again the lip lifting, "Guards? Ha! Sheep in wolves clothing. No, no, no. If it had been the guards then I would have ended them all in mere moments! No, something much worse than guards and wolves," he leant in, as though he was telling me a secret, "Assassins!"

I made a show of looking him up and down. "Well, I would see why someone would send assassins after you."

The dark elf scowled, "Very amusing Imperial. If you need to know I am Drelas De La Pourge, the third son of the Dunmer house of Pourge-"

"Dunmer?"

"Dark elves. How do you not know that?"

"Well lets just say that I live very far away."

"Very well," Drelas raised an eyebrow but continued on, "Our family used to be a highly respected one in Southern Morrowind. We owned an estate and were pretty well-off in terms of economical investiture. Then when the accursed Red Year struck home and the Red Mountain decided to explode and bury thousands if not more under the weight of it's explosion, the Argorians decided to come and 'help', by conquering Morrowind. They managed to invade all of our southern territories and terrorized the entire populace before our armies led by House Redoran held them back. Our family escaped to the new capital of Blacklight which also became the new home of House Redoran due to them becoming the head of the ruling council after the war ended"

Drelas the Dunmer stopped his tale in order to twirl the wolf meat again.

"Well that was... interesting?"

What was a synonym for boring?

"Imperial, I am only trying to make conversation. I have been stuck in a wooden hut in the middle of nowhere for months now and we could remain silent for the rest of the time this wolf takes to become edible to the mouth."

Well that wouldn't actually be all that bad. Silence was an expensive commodity around here.

I scratched my head before remembering something about an invasion, "Why did the Argorians attack?"

"You are definitely not from around here. They sensed the opportunity in the air – finally, a chance to pay back the Dark Elves for enslaving them over the centuries."

"You were slave traders?"

"Are, not were. But yes, the finest traders in all of Tamriel!"

"That's sick."

"Well Dunmer are called 'Dark Elves' for a reason."

"I just thought you were called that because you are literally 'Dark'."

"Humph," Drelas snorted.

The sun – or whatever the star orbiting Nirn was – started rising above the tree line.

"So you came to Blacklight – right? Then what?" I asked.

"Naturally, the head of our family thought it was impudent due to safety concerns to flee Morrowind. Normally that decision would be considered cowardice but the situation was unprecedented. Argorians at our doors down south, nearly a third of the country destroyed, our estates seized and not to mention that Morrowind had become much less habitable and in some areas it was hard to even breathe. So we, like many other refugees, fled to Skyrim along the Dunmeth pass. A road – the only road at that – that directly connects the two. I think the meat is cooked," Drelas loaded our food onto two rudimentary plates which seemed to already contain some type of what I assumed to be eatable greenery.

"Looks good to eat," I said.

"Yes, but it must cool first. Anyways, back onto the tale. We settled in Riften and have lived there ever since. We have a large three-floored lodging right in the middle of the city. Our family owes the local stables and are the representatives of the East Empire Company in South-Eastern Skyrim. One day, I got this really bright idea to become a mage at the College of Winterhold, one of the only schools of magic on Tamriel and the only one in Skyrim. I travelled up there and... got accepted," his eyes glazed over and trailed with the fluffy clouds sailing past us.

"It was... fascinating. The magic involved, the astounding knowledge gained, the mysteries presented with – everything was so intriguing and delightful. However, after almost two years of study, an... incident occurred. Someone had broken into the archmaester's chambers – perhaps as a prank as we first assumed – and I was blamed. It turned out there was a theft involved, some snivelling fool had laid the evidence in my dorm and I was kicked out of the College.

"I headed south to Cyrodill, the capital province of The Empire, to hopefully be able to join the mages guild there. Unfortunately, it seems that a member of the College, perhaps even the original culprit, ordered a hit on me – so I wouldn't be able to prove my innocence – with the Dark Brotherhood no less, the assassin guild native to Skyrim. I holed up in a small cottage south of Morthal for a couple of paranoid months and practised my magics in secret. Then I decided to make a break for it thinking that the coast was clear and barely escaped with my life from Whiterun. And here I am. I have only stopped running when I noticed that it was the wolves following me and not the assassin. That my Imperial guest, is the abridged story of my life. You do not have to say your own, I am sure it is beneath my notice, or that of any other Dunmer."

I hoped that not all Dunmer were such jerks but I mulled over the story anyways. I needed to ask for a few clarifications.

"So there's an assassin after your head?"

"Indeed," Drelas replied with a face carved of stone.

"And you managed to _run,_ non-stop, all the way from Whiterun to here; in the middle of the night with first the assassin giving chase and then the wolves?"

"Yes."

"Huh, wow. That's pretty impressive actually. Talk about stamina. Why don't you just go to your family and tell them about the false accusation? Couldn't you hire an assassin to kill off the other assassin?" I asked.

"My family would expect for me to find the culprit and execute them myself. Something that I am in no position to do," Drelas replied.

"Oh... tough family."

The Dark Elf cracked a grin for the first time since we had met, "That it is most certainly"

My stomach was silently grumbling for sustenance.

"What's for breakfast?" I mumbled.

"Idiot. Wolf of course! What did you think was going to be for breakfast?" an irritated Drelas gave me a plate loaded up with blood soaked meat.

Yum. That was the most sarcastic word that I could come up with to describe what was essentially a cooked mesh of blood and bone soaked in wine.

Seeing my hesitance, Drelas bit into the flesh, "Don't like, don't eat"

I was hungry. But not that hungry.

Drelas meanwhile soaked up the blood with fervour.

"Are you sure that you are not a vampire?"

Drelas smiled really wide, showing off his yellowing museum of decomposed calcium products. I decided not to clarify.

When Drelas was done with his plate and in a better mood, he asked, "Not to be controversial, but I have not talked to a living soul for months. Who are you?"

I thought about how best to answer him.

"Do you believe in gods?"

Drelas suddenly looked at me warily, "You are not a Daedric Prince are you?"

"No. What is a Daedric Prince?"

"Daedras are a supernatural and immortal race of entities that inhibit the planes of Oblivion, an infinite or near-infinite number of planes, each ruled by a Daedric Prince – which are super powerful Daedra. Down here on Tamriel, we are only aware of 16 of them. Direct interactions between the plane of Nirn and the planes of Oblivion are nearly impossible expect for the Oblivion Gates but those have been destroyed and shouldn't reappear again. They can; however, interact with us and as Daedric Princes are shape-shifters, they can be almost anyone though their form on Nirn can be killed. Normal Daedra can only be summoned for particular lengths of time by skilled conjurers, which are usually used to help in battles. After death, their souls go back to Oblivion."

"Whoa Drelas, that's a lot to take in. I am definitely not one of those. This world is more messed than mine is, mythologically speaking"

"Your world?" Drelas asked curiously as he chewed on some foreign flower.

"You could say that it's another plane that I came from by accident."

"So you're immortal?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Ah."

We sat in silence for a while, Drelas munching on meat while I just sat there expecting Zeus to blow me into tiny Percy bits for telling someone the secret. Surprisingly, I felt lighter getting some of the stuff off of my chest yet again. It seems that there were far crazier things here than aliens that suddenly appeared from other worlds. Hell they had trolls, dragons, giant spiders, giant everything and an infinite number of unkillable aliens floating in outer space. I don't think that I would be judged too harshly if I just told everyone of where I came from, probably the people around the camp fire would just go, 'Meh' and go on with their daily lives. I could get used to this.

"So what are you then?" Drelas finally asked.

"A demigod; half human, half god."

"A demigod? Who is your godly donor then?" was that grudging respect that I could hear in Drelas's voice?

"My father is the god of the seas, earthquakes and horses from where I come from. I can control water and cause earthquakes and sometimes I can even mildly change the weather. I can also speak with horses and fishes if that is worth anything to ya."

Drelas's eyes widened, "That's astounding! Could you demonstrate for me?"

"I cannot. Apparently, they need to be 'activated'."

"Pity," and it sounded like Drelas was honesty disappointed.

The morning air was pleasant. The sunrise nearly complete. Various birds were flying over the treetops. Pounding sounds from a nearby waterfall could be heard. It was a perfect morning.

"We will get there when we get there. Thanks for the history lesson, I needed that. Lets pack up and head for Whiterun. You're with me, right?"

"Well demigod genius, there is an assassin out there trying to get my hide. What do you think?"

"You know that the assassin would not expect for you to return back to Whiterun and would have probably already passed us."

"Then why didn't he find us?" Drelas argued.

"Maybe because it was pitch dark outside and our tent was covered with leaves?"

Drelas stopped and inspected the tent, "What about the bodies of the wolves? It left a scent that a skilled assassin could track."

"Not every assassin has a sharp nose such as yours."

Drelas still hesitated, "We'd be going into a major city while I have a contract on my head. That is not wise"

I began packing the tent, "Well I'm leaving. Either stay here alone, likely not to meet another soul for a couple more months, or go with me, a demigod, to clear your noble name. It's up to you to choose."

Drelas stood with his charcoal hands on his hips and his tongue in-between his teeth while I finished packing the tent up and setting everything in my backpack.

I stepped up to the Dunmer, "You in?"

He took a step backwards, then a step forwards. Then he stopped probably realising that he was being foolish.

Drelas raised his hand, alight with a fireball, and burned the remaining wolf, "That answer your question?"

"Welcome aboard the Percy Express. We hope you enjoy your stay."

Drelas moaned, "Your jokes are as stale as your appearance"

"And your wolf skin is as original as your beard."

"Don't insult the wolf skin! It was for a festival!"

"And here I thought you were on the run. Sigh, Drelas, Drelas, Drelas-"

"I was on the run," he interrupted me, "but there was a celebration in Whiterun as I was passing through and I needed to blend in"

"What celebration?"

"Apparently a blue streaked star was sighted passing the sky on the 18th of Last Seed. The elders proclaimed it as a sign from the heavens. I wanted to fit in and the traditional dance around the bonfire had everyone dressed in animal furs. Next thing I know, there is someone in dark clothing trying to slit my throat. So I fled with the clothes on my back. The rest you know."

18th of Last Seed. A blue star. "Did you say that the star was blue?"

"Yes... let me guess. It had something to do with you?"

"Probably," I shrugged.

This was too big to be a coincidence. A prophecy was definitely involved.

"Say Drelas, what month is Last Seed?"

"The eighth month in the calender." Drelas raised an eyebrow.

"And how many months are there?" I persisted.

"Twelve months, 365 days to a year."

"And does the second month have 28 days?" I was getting desperate.

"Yes. Why?" Drelas inadvertently nailed the nail into the coffin.

The 18th of August. I came here on the 18th of August. Oh this was not good. I travelled here on my birthday, my seventeenth birthday to be more precise. Helgen happened on my birthday.

My hands were shaking, "Nothing. Just wanted to see if the calender matched up with the one back at home"

"And does it?"

"Yes, it most certainly does."

The Olympians mentioned a third time, a prophecy and seventeen. I was seventeen. I stepped away from Drelas and used my gauntlet to hit my head, "Stupid, stupid, stupid"

"Is everything alright?" Drelas asked hesitantly.

"Yes, everything is fine," I grabbed the moleskin from him and took a swig of water.

I could worry about the prophecy later. Adventure waited for no one. We were soon on our way downhill through the fields of wild plants and the occasional clumps of spruce and pine trees that jotted into the sky, a dirt road with cart tracks embedded into it was the only thing that hinted that humans even traversed these areas. Drelas wisely kept his mouth shut and we discussed the comet no more.

Along the side of the road, a river flowed downstream from the mountain range that we were retreating from. Its clear waters and just the sight of it alone brought me into a much better mood. I even thought about jumping in before I remembered that I would probably drown or be killed in the rapids. A very bizarre thought as I had a deep fondness for water and all of its inhabitants.

"Percy?"

I turned to look at Drelas.

"Come. You can see Whiterun from here. Have a look!"

I stepped in-between the cover of the overarching trees. In the distance, a city gleamed under the rays of the sun. A sturdy uneven wall surrounded it in a protective layer. Inside, old Nordic houses were scrambled across the landscape in the hundreds, all with either thatched or scaled roofs painted a dull orange. A sewer ran out of the city proper through a small, barred part of the wall. Farms and farmlands surrounded the city from the outside as well as a small market not far from the gates, set up on the connecting road travelling right next to Whiterun.

The most notable and impressive part of the city was the castle in which the Jarl supposedly resided in. It was probably over a hundred feet tall and two-hundred feet in length, sitting atop a hill made almost entirely of rock. Stairs were the only way to get to the steel hardened gates awaiting any attacker at the top.

As far as I could see, Whiterun was extremely defensible. Everything was designed to cause the maximum amount of damage to an attacking army. Heck, an attacker would need to get through a set of gates, through a draw-bridge, through another set of huge steel gates, through the entire city, climb a set of steps that got narrower as they went up all the way up to the castle and then break through another set of steel doors there before even getting into the castle proper. Not to mention that there would be archers raining down arrows literally everywhere and that there were catapults mounted on the walls that would decimate any attacking force. Whiterun was one formidable opponent.

"We have company."

I looked up. It seemed there was a patrol of Imperial soldiers – about a dozen in total – walking right in our direction, with a couple of prisoners tied up and dragged by the horses that the Imperial soldiers sat atop. Warily, the two groups passed each other.

I was reminded of how I was nearly executed at Helgen, "I don't like this, we need to free them"

Drelas looked at me and shook his head, "We are too outnumbered. Besides it's likely that they are just common rabble being escorted home after paying a bribe"

"Yargh!" One of the prisoners had hit an Imperial soldier in the face and it seemed that the prisoners wanted very much to escape their captors based on their hurried motions and fleeting faces.

"Somehow I doubt that," I found myself saying as the prisoner responsible was knocked out cold.

I could free them – it was possible but with a catch. Someone was going to die. Perhaps they were just being brought to another jail afterall.

In silence, we continued to walk until we were long past the patrol and had reached the foot of the mountain range, where the river from before crashed and splashed and flowed under the bridges of a crossroad. We continued on the path to Whiterun, going past a brewery and in the direction of the gates. Dense greenery filled everything aside from the road for miles around us. I wondered if this is what earth had looked like back in the medieval age. It was beautiful.

But of course it did have its flaws.

"Hey! What in the Divines name are GIANTS doing at the farm?!" Drelas shrieked.

Another day spoiled. What they called giants here were basically thin Cyclops with clubs. I could handle that but seriously? Just when the day was starting to look up...

What caused more alarm were the three people fighting the creature. I needed to hurry to save the day from becoming a disaster with a death on my head.

"Let's go help!" I yelled and broke out into a sprint.

With ease, I vaulted over the fence standing in my way and continued on, the footsteps behind indicated that Drelas was following me. As we were nearing, two of the giants broke and started routing from battle leaving the third behind in their wake.

The three humans were fighting valiantly. The brunette was striking quick, disabling blows with her dual swords; the tall, muscular man brought the attention on himself with his giant form (no pun intended) and the great sword nestled in his hands; while arrows were shot by a badass ginger covered in war paint and revealing armour.

Suddenly, the giant glanced off the two fighters beside himself and dashed for the archer. He raised his club... and got skewered by a rather pointy Draugr sword. The giant howled in rage before the woman behind me loosened an arrow that sailed through the giant's skin like butter and fragmented the creatures skull. The next thing I knew, the giant was falling head-first right on top of me.

I managed to leap out of the way just in time to avoid my head and neck getting crushed into a messed up pile of blood, bones and brain matter under the massive body of the Cyclops hybrid.; however, the rest of my body remained stuck under the dead creature. The armour was utterly crushed, making it hard to breath or even move.

The archer whose life I had probably saved, approached and gave me a cute smile – or the cutest smile a warrior woman with war make-up and a huge war bow with long, piercing war arrows on her back can give you without looking like she was considering if you would make for decent prey. "Names Aela, warrior – you would make for a decent Shield-Brother."

I felt a bit faint. Whether it was because of a giant falling on top of me, blood rushing down south or how I imagined Camilla's expression to be if she saw this scene too, I didn't know. I just hoped that the latter never happened. Ever.

The warriors and Drelas crowded around me as they tried to pull off the giant. "One, two, three! Pull!"

Apparently monsters here just didn't dissolve into convenient golden dust like back at home. Here they died... forever. The lifeless corpse twisted with its dead eyes staring at me, only inches away from my face. The stench was unbearable. Did these giants bathe in pools of mucus while using goats as sponges?

"Pull!"

A glob of giant spit landed on my face. I would've yelled but was too afraid to open my mouth lest any of the glob flow down my own throat. I still remembered Regan very well, and nobody had yet to tell me that giant's spit wasn't poisonous.

"Pull!"

Finally, the body of the giant was moved and I took in a couple of deep, hurried breaths and smelled the fresh, crisp air of the countryside. Talk about carrying the weight of the world.

"Well look who took a walk in the park," said not the most pleasant of voices.

"I am also happy to see you Drelas," I drawled while the world spun round and round albeit slowly and with a bit of a tilt.

Murmurs were being said somewhere off in the distance. They were arguing about something and like always I – the amazing Kelp-head – had managed to completely tune out of it. Sigh, I missed Thaila.

I tried to focus on the conversation. "Of course he's not fine. Just look at his dented armour! We need to take him over to Jorrvaskr," argued Aela.

I blushed. Then I tried to hit myself on the head and failed. Life was going great. I had a future wife to think about and I shouldn't exactly be fantasizing about a hot, sexy vixen. Then again, I shouldn't have been thinking of Camilla but of Annabeth and look how that turned out!

"I agree. That looked like it hurt," said the mountain of a man with the great sword swaying dangerously across his back.

"You think?" Drelas rolled his eyes.

"You need not be so aggressive. It is not like you did anything yourself anyways elf," the man replied.

"I didn't do anything?!"

"Well, yes, exactly that."

Drelas just silently fumed as he gave me his arm to pull me upright. Tenderly, I reached out and held onto the offered limb as I tried to bring myself up. My unsteady feet, derived of oxygen, sent me crashing down with the closest person right into a batch of cabbages. Right atop of... Aela. Right onto... her chest. Oh I was... sooo screwed.

"See, you can't even hold your friend properly!" the mountain continued off as if they hadn't even stopped.

"Why you! I held Percy perfectly fine. I will have you kn-"

I sighed into Aela's chest. Here we go again.

At least the third companion with the dual blades seemed to be enjoying the verbal thrashing the two were giving each other.

"Well for a male, you have terrible balance," Aela snorted.

"I'm usually better. You know, when I don't get stuck under the bodies of giants saving damsels in distress."

"Oh yes? Well then you will just have to show this distressed damsel some day just how balanced you are," she said.

Yeah. S-C-R-E-W-E-D.

"I'll think about it," I muttered as I tried to pull myself up with my elbows – unsuccessfully, bringing myself crashing down onto her chest once more.

"What right now? Isn't that a little fast?" she asked innocently with doe-like eyes.

"No, no. I have a wife," said no womaniser ever.

"You're married?"

"Well no."

Not yet anyways. I seemed to have proved some unsaid point of hers. She seemed to get a glean in her eyes.

"But soon," I added, just in case she was getting any thoughts.

"Well you're single now and after you get married you won't get to enjoy the single life anymore," she winked suggestively, "I can-"

"Percy, am I in the right here?!" interrupted Drelas before Aela could finish her sentence.

I could kiss Drelas right now. "Yes, Yes. You're right!"

"See," Drelas gestured at me.

The mountain looked unconvinced. "He just had a giant fall on top of him. He's delusional!"

Aela pouted as I tried to pull myself away from her, "Don't go. You're comfy Percy."

"We have laid here long enough." And I would go crazy if I starred at those eyes for any longer.

I tried to roll off before she grabbed me by the arm with an iron grip and smiled, "Going somewhere?"

I leaned in to her ear, "I don't like you"

Her smile turned into a smirk, "Somehow I find that hard to believe in"

"And why is that?"

"Because you have been staring at my boobs when you think that I am not looking."

I flushed red, "Not true!"

She just gave me a knowing smirk that infatuated me. Two could play that game. I leaned in close, right next to her lips. I closed my eyes and as soon as her grip slacked, I immediately jumped up with new found strength and made a dash for Drelas, hiding behind him.

Aela for her part gave me an annoyed look before she picked herself up from the cabbage patch. I couldn't help myself but watch as she teased me by lifting up her armour by her upper curves to make it fit nice and tight while also showing off her toned stomach. I think it is time to leave.

"Drelas!"

"Hmm?" he replied, eyebrows furrowed on why I stopped him while he was trying to teach a Nord manners.

"We need to go. We have a date with a Jarl."

"We do?" Drelas seemed truly flabbergasted while Aela was giving him an intrigued look.

He turned his back to her and whispered, "Yes"

"Well alright then. I didn't know demigods were that important. Fine, lead the way then – and you," Drelas turned to the mountain of a man, "We will have this discussion another time"

"Suit yourself, elf meat."

I could see that Drelas was biting back some choice words before I took him by the arm and started dragging him to the gates of Whiterun.

"Don't forget to come by and collect your 'reward' after that date of yours! I will be interested in how it ends," Aela shouted with mirth at our retreating backs.

"Aela are you seriously-"

The mountain gave a muffled yell as Aela punched him in the guts so hard that he doubled-over.

"Am I seriously _what_?"

I seemed to have forgotten that although Aela was an attractive female, she was also a tough badass that ended giants for lunch. I needed to get my life priorities straight here. Cheating on Camilla would break her heart. Not cheating on Camilla could get _my_ heart broken – in a very _literal_ sense.

Finally we walked out of sight of the giant-slayers, passing by the stables and finally entering the outside gates of Whiterun. Squads of soldiers littered the battlements while a detached group of guards that stood at the entrance checked over carts from a recently arrived merchant caravan. Walking past the first gate, we went around in a 'U' and crossed over the bridge that covered up a ditch with a small, controlled water stream that could fill up the entire thing with water in a matter of minutes during a siege. At last, we entered the final courtyard before the city proper.

A guard from the main gates hailed us, "Hail. The city has been closed due to dragon sightings. Official business only."

"We are here to inform the Jarl of those very same dragon sightings in Riverwood," I informed the guard.

"Dragons in Riverwood? The Jarl will want to hear of this. All right, come on in. Get to the Jarl as fast as possible, he resides in Dragonsreach, the highest structure in Whiterun," said the guard before opening the gates and allowing us passage into the city proper.

It was as if we were entering an entirely different world. The clang of the blacksmith's hammer rang clearly throughout the district as did the chirps of birds and the soft mumbles of muted conversation slowly seeping in from the city's marketplace. Bright banners stood firm alongside the road showcasing a motif of a golden stallion against a white background – the symbol of Whiterun. We went on throughout the city, meeting many of the natives that hurried about their everyday lives whether it was buying and selling at the marketplace, drinking at the inns or making conversation with friends and foes alike.

The stairs were fairly short, at least on the first level. Drainage flew along the cobbled staircase with flowers planted alongside to mask the smell. At the top to the entrance of the second district, stood an old tree bearing resemblance to ancient oaks that one could find in the forests of Native American reservations. Its hundreds of dried branches hung over the centre of the circular pathway with the path circling around it lest it intrude upon this ancient being which might have been here before the city was even founded.

On the left there were even more houses but on the right there stood a majestic statue of a winged-helmed man with a sword piercing through a giant snake. The statue was a one to one copy of the one that he and Faendal had found at the massacre. If Talos worship was so prohibited in Skyrim then why would a full-size statue of him be standing in such a public place? Was it defiance? Or was it so worshippers could be easier to target and identify?

Apparently since we had a date that we could be late to, Drelas didn't appreciate me slowing down and admiring or even observing every detail of my surroundings. Instead he pulled me along right to the wide doors of Dragonsreach.

This was it. It was my time to shine.


End file.
